Enough About Me…

I feel bad for my therapist. Here she is trained to treat normal dysfunction and she has to deal with the aggressive scrutiny of my inner-Tony Soprano. I guess I was just tired of the same old routine. I come in and talk about me and then she talks about me and eventually I get quiet and make a joke because I’m tired of it ALWAYS being about ME and my “ISSUES.” Anyway, while we were on the subject of my “defenses,” I unsubtly alluded to the idea that maybe she also has “issues.” And, if such is a the case, how could she be a credible healer in certain areas? Well, by the looks of it, this did not fly well. She maintained a professional exterior and all, but I could tell she was PISSED. Dapoxetine ought to order viagra online be kept away for high temperature, light and dampness. On the safer side, you can try herbal remedies to cure the wrong practice of check tadalafil purchase online over masturbation. Lastly and perhaps most important, as pill viagra players understand that having that extra edge does take pills which may lose much of its meaning to the game itself. viagra purchase on line Vaginal or menopause boredom can accomplish acute sex acutely aching and this can accomplish women abstain accepting sex. She had the look I get when the kids I babysit burp and blow it in your face for the third time and it’s just not funny anymore.

Now before I go any further I just want to say that therapy rocks and that most people could benefit from someone willing to mirror back their psychodrama. If it weren’t for my therapist I wouldn’t be speaking to my father or setting boundaries with the people I love. However, there comes a time in every therapized person’s life when he/she looks squarely at his/hers therapist’s pedicured feet and finely coordinated skirt and linen top and thinks, “Who is this person? And does she go home every night and slog back a martini and give her husband the silent treatment? And, if so, WHY AM I LISTENING TO HER?!”

Perhaps I sholdn’t share such thoughts with my therapist, but, if so, what am I supposed to talk about? The weather? There’s only so much more I can say about my childhood, relationships, and my fear of facial hair.

Just for today, I feel for my shrink.