Went to my Therapy place in "The Jungle" this morning.
For the majority of the 90 minutes there, I sat quietly and watched my guy, M&M, type my Treatment Plan into some database linked to Downtown (after it took twenty minutes for the tech guys fix his rejected password), watched the door, read two essays in Getting Even by Woody Allen, stared at the wall, read some photo-copied story hanging on the edge of his desk, in summary:
A White Guy and a Native American are walking down a loud, big city street. NA says he hears a cricket among all the racket. WG says no way. NA leads him to a bush a block away and shows him the cricket. "It all depends on what one is tuned into." Then NA drops some coins onto sidewalk and the crowd all rubber-necks and checks their own pockets. The End.
Nice story. I get the point, but it sure is hard to change 34 years of twisted thinking, eh?
Anyway. Then we walked out to the receptionist to schedule a Medical Evaluation with a psychiatrist in July to hook me up with drugs. Then back to the room where I looked over the Treatment Plan, signed something, talked about starting Group Therapy (which I lied and said I couldn't do the one today, work...King Procrastination rules again!). Besides, I'm a little nervous about that. Then off to meet for two minutes with his Director in an attempt to work out a cheaper rate for the meetings and group and such, but I didn't have a Check Stub and my W-2 on me, so that gets put off until next week. But I have no faith that they'll lower it since I'm actually employed/employable.
Then, out the in hall M&M nervously says good-bye and I leave. (he is a constantly moving, rubbing his face, absent minded, stocky chap. Don't get me wrong--he's very nice and VERY well read, keeps dropping all these Netherlands authors /doctors I should read)
So, basically, I paid $30 today to read my own book and a bit of air conditioning. Look out road to wellville, here I come! Yee-haw!