Member-only story
In Therapy
The man was reasonably competent in his field, IT. He was dressed in jeans, an earth colored, button down shirt that wasn’t tucked in. He had a fidget cube, tumbling it in his hands as he pondered the question, ‘why was he here.’ Had the therapist feigned interest, even contempt, her eyes may have been less neutral. She sat there, legs crossed, right ankle flaring out of her dress in timely precision to an old, pendulum clock, as she doodled on a notebook, passing it as being purposeful. They were both wearing masks.
“Are you asking me to designate a goal?” Stanly asked.
Lisa sighed. “Seriously not a hard question, Stan. A goal would at least be forward thinking, don’t you think?”
“I had a goal. I wanted to have a family, raise some kids, grow old with the love of my life, and retire to a quiet little suburban home,” Stan mused. His thumb hovered over the toggle switch. It was either on or off. He clicked clicked it through it’s arch. Nothing. It was still either on or off.
“That statement suggests you’re stuck in the past,” Lisa observed.
Stan nodded. “Did you ever see Doctor Strangelove? It was supposed to be titled how to stop worrying and love the bomb, but you know, I have watched it probably a couple dozen times and I never felt it really alleviated my…
