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September 29th, 2014

Absolutely Cuckoo

My therapist, like all of them before, likes to ask me what my hobbies are. What I do in my spare time. "Dick around on the internet," I said after a long pause, "and then write about it. On the internet."

"Do you have a blog?"

I considered the phrase blog and what all it entailed. Fruits.Vegetables. Veganism. Politics.

"No," I said after ten minutes, "but I have a journal."

"Online?!" she exclaimed.

"All varities," I said.

She asked if I had followers. I said "yes" although that's stretching it. All 23 of them friended me when I created the journal in the year 2000 and many of them could possibly be deceased now. But that bit of intel excited her.

"So they're like, 'right on Colleen!' when you post?"

Again, I said, "yes," really pushing it. Sometimes two or three of them will convince me not to throw myself in the river, and it used to be they'd lol when I'd drop a jug of Carlo Rossi wine on the scanner at work, but my career path had taken a turn for the not-so-hilarious the past eight years, as had my life (hence the talking out of suicide). But she's convinced I should keep it up, if only for cathartic reasons. Could I see the humor in my boss yelling at me to turn down my mantra meditation music? she asked.

"What? No. That was cruel." She insisted I write about it, which I did. It should be noted that no one replied with, "Right on Colleen!"