DATURA
9.9.20
My therapist likes to throw shade.
She has a way with words, that woman. She’ll say things like “untapped subservience,” and “pathologically secretive.”
that last one stung a bit.
During our most recent exercise, she’s asked me to write down a list of traits I seek in partners.
I tell her how stupid that is. No one can know what they want in a partner if they haven’t met them yet.
“It’s like painting O’Keeffe’s Jimson Weed and asking her to jump rope with the Stary Night.” Is what I tell her. She doesn’t respond, either not picking up the reference or simply deciding to ignore it. She knows not to play tug-o-war with my foolishness. Instead I start writing things down like “compassionate, honest, independent, creative.” A list of ten demands seeming more commandments – the standard bullshit you find on every over 40s match.com profile.
There are things I want to write down, but don’t say (probably not doing much to contradict my tight-lipped pathology diagnosis). The substance of a person you can’t dial for in yellow pages. What separates mannequin from nectarine.
I’m still not sure if this exercise will be good for me, but like any good lamb to slaughter, I’ll baa.