You’re probably wondering why I was up this late, truth is, why weren’t you? I was sending emails to clients, asking my assistant Claire on how my tone seems, apparently, I have problems with “Empathy”, in my opinion : Claire can suck a soft dick. It’s fucking 2 AM. No client wants to answer my god forbidden business, well unless you count that tool who prides around a Harvard tenure, Claire can suck his dick on soft for all I care.
Why is it that I constantly feel people watching me? Perhaps they aren’t even people. What if they’re animals? Should I even address them as they? God, can you do your fucking job, write this shit down it could be golden. Quit glaring at me too, I don’t pay you to gawk at me. Jesus, is there anyone that acts like a professional? Well, I applaud you. Therapists on TV shows are different than in real life. You get to sit here and act like a shit is given of me and get paid.
I’m here because my wife, ex-wife. Not really a loss. Yes, put those tissues behind your desk. I’m not going to sob. Apparently, I’m not in the clearest of heads. I call bull. If I called her now, she’d probably be strung out and half dead. Sometimes I do miss her. That time we met at a roller rink, a blind date. She came in with a blue dress. Not just blue. Cerulean. Enough of that, people change. I hate the roller rink.
This chair is uncomfy, you should fix that. I thought you guys made a bunch of money, right? Silence. Okay. You’re full of shit. You make a lot, not as much as me though. How much time is left in our session? Geez, it’s like I’m sitting on nails. I need water, can I get water ? No for fuck’s sake I don’t care if it takes away from session time. Yes, I’d rather to anything that this right now. Right now, I want to snort three lines and sink myself into a pile of money, judging on the percent of sobriety at that point, won’t be real.