I Tell Her

Since I've hired a professional, I've started having imaginary conversations with her in between our little visits. It makes me think I really am crazy, becuase when I actually do go down to the club, I don't talk about the things I talk about with her in my head. I tell her I don't believe in categories, that I wish I felt good enough to get out of bed every day of the week, that I wish I knew why I have been alone my whole life, and if it's going to continue for very much longer. I tell her that I know I'm irrational, delusional, and twist people's words to fit the feeling I get from them. I tell her that I am entitled to get angry but I don't know how to do it. Not for real. I tell her that I wish someone paid attention to me, and that I wish there was someone that wanted attention from me, because I have a lot of attention to pay. I tell her that I wish I was prettier or smarter or had some trait that made me a little more memorable or recognizeable. I tell her I wish I could win something. Money, a car, an award, a gift certificate, a heart, anything.

And then I tell her she dresses funny, but it's endearing.