Jen and I have been talking a lot about our enemies lately, people who have wronged or annoyed us in one way or another throughout the years. It doesn’t take much to become one of these people. In fact, some people on our shit list don’t even know they’re on it. Like I’m pretty sure the cable repair man has no idea I’m still raging about him 17 years later, just like my former neighbor had no idea I’d been complaining about the hammer he didn't return for the past eight years.
Another person who doesn’t know she’s on my list of enemies is a therapist I had in New York 14 years ago. I had a psychiatrist at the time, but she wouldn’t listen to my problems beyond trying to figure out what kind of medication I needed, so I had to find someone else to talk to.
(Side story about the psychiatrist: I used to pick doctors based on neighborhoods I liked to visit, which might not have been the best technique. My psychiatrist was on the Upper East Side, and I used to make my appointments with her early in the morning so I could get dressed up and ride the subway with the working folks. I was writing from home in Brooklyn at the time and I missed interacting with people. So once a month I’d squeeze onto a crowded subway car at 8AM and make my way to her office on Park Avenue and 79th. As I held the pole like all the other people, I’d imagine having a day job again, thinking about all the papers I’d shuffle and numbers I’d crunch when I got to the office. One day a handsome fellow gave me the eye and said, “Big day at the office?” “No, the psychiatrist,” I replied. And then he stopped talking to me.)
Anyway. Enter a therapist named Gabrielle, last name withheld for her own protection. Her office was located near NYU and I thought, How fun! I can get the help I need and then roam around NYU pretending to be a young coed.
I went to see Gabrielle because I was trying to finish the 20 Times a Lady screenplay at the time, and my sleeping had gotten reversed. I’m a night owl who gets creative at night, and every night I was staying up later and later. So what started as me staying up until midnight, 1AM, 2AM and 3AM, had turned into me staying up until 9AM and sleeping until 5PM.
The moment I walked into Gabrielle’s office and took one look at her, I knew it wasn't going to work out. I know you shouldn’t judge someone based on their appearance, but she had brown kinky hair (100% a home perm), and was wearing black stirrup pants with pink rhinestone loafers and no socks. She wasn’t dressed this way to be retro or edgy. It was clear to me she was still stuck in the 80s which was a problem because I needed a therapist with good judgment and hers seemed to be a little off.
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