I started therapy. No shame. I figure my therapist is my best audience member. I am paying by the 45-minutes to talk about myself. Perfecting my monologue, if you will. Initially I was referred to what one might refer to as a "clinic." A place where there is mismatched furniture in the waiting room (probably donated) and a dish of hardy candy that might have had an ant or two running around on a piece of butterscotch. But I reminded myself that I wasn't there for the design aesthetic rather the profound psychoanalysis they could offer. This "clinic" operated on a sliding scale in which patients could pay a fee based on their income. Since returning to graduate school I have had to learn to budget. Forced to prioritize I quickly learned that my monthly budget could only really afford my necessities: phone bill, lattes, cable, manicures/pedicures, US Weekly, and vodka. Unfortunately it wasn't financially responsible to make room for a private therapist.
As I stood in the elevator on my way to my first appointment I noticed a bottled blonde woman (whose shade could only be found in a Clariol box labeled 4C) severely staring. Reading the December 2009 issue of Vanity Fair while sitting in a floral patterned arm chair with a barely noticeable stain, out came my bottled blonde to introduce myself. Oy. At this time it seems necessary to share that I am half-deaf. Much like many of my friends are half Irish and half German I hear out of my left ear but not my right ear. In dairy terms I am half-and-half. My Freudian bottled, brassy, blonde was Russian whose seemed to become thicker by the minute. I couldn't understand her. I tried sitting on the edge of the couch, thinking if I positioned myself a certain way then maybe I could hear her. Nope. I realize therapy is hard work but it would be helpful if I could hear the person. Towards the end of the session as I concentrated on her pastel pink painted mouth I think she uttered the words, "the bathroom is a very sexual place." Hmm. This was not the best match.
Now a month later I have a new Park Avenue therapist who I can hear and charges over $200 per 50-minutes. I have had to rework my budget and switch to regular iced coffee. Some sacrifices are worth it.
