Separation Anxiety

For the past few months I have been seeing a councilor. This shouldn't come as any kind of surprise to anyone who regularly follows these posts, so I won't go into the details of it all again.

My Dr, Chuck I will call him (well, I should call him that, that's his name), is a quirky fellow. While I can't think of any immediate examples, he seems like a stereotypical councilor. He always wears a sport coat, and usually has a plaid shirt of some sort underneath. This plaid shirt is usually over a turtle neck shirt. He wears glasses, has a mustache, and seems to talk through only one side of his mouth. He uses a lot of hand gestures, which only animates this stereotypical image in my head even more.

I had a hard time, at first, connecting with Chuck. Indeed, I think I almost had a hard time taking him seriously at times. After all, he has a PhD. As as you all know (or at least should know), that stands for Piled Higher and Deeper. Right? Most of us in the common world, have known a Shrink or two. I was told a story by someone who is very close to me, and whom I hold in the highest regard, that he too once saw a shrink.

This Dr, however was the complete opposite of Chuck. He wore Hawaiian shirts and board shorts. He also wore no underwear, and had the bad habit of sitting just right (or in actuality, so horribly wrong) that you couldn't help but see his ball sack down the leg of his shorts. And of course, once you see something like that, its nearly impossible to look away. No matter how hard you try, you can't help but going back to it. Its like a train wreck. You know its going to be horrific, you know the scene will likely scar your psyche for life, but you still can't look away.

Fortunately for me, Chuck would always wear pants. And I never bothered to ask if he wore chonies, it just seemed the wrong thing to do. But for all of Chuck's quirkiness, he had a level of down-to-earthiness that I respected. I even grew to like.

At one point, we were talking about Wife. He asked me if there were things I did that annoy her. I promptly told him I was sure she could provide a list. He didn't want a list, just an example. So I told him the fact that I leave clothes in the bathroom after a shower, in particular my underwear, annoyed the crap out of her. After all, the hamper was about six feet away. He asked why I didn't pick up my clothes. My response was its an old habit. I have always left clothes in the bathroom and simply picked them up when the pile got too big.

Chuck was quick to point out the this was a passive-aggressive behavior. I kind of lost him in the psycho-babble that quickly followed, but was brought back on track when he said, "And besides, your wife will appreciate it. And who knows, it might even help you get laid."

Ah Chuck, apparently he knows how to get my attention back on track. Perhaps he and I have connected in more ways than I had originally thought.

Over the past few sessions, though, we have had less and less to talk about. At then end of our sessions, he always asked if I wanted to schedule another session. Of course, I thought, why else would I be here.

But today it was said. "Adam," he said, "I don't think we need to continue these sessions." Apparently, I have progressed. Which is really kind of a surprise. There have been times when I have walked out of his office and thought to myself, "What in the hell was the purpose of that whole hour in there? I think I just lost a whole hour of my life to a yuppie in a sport coat. Did we really accomplish anything? "

I guess the answer is, "Yes, you idiot." He should know. After all, he is the PhD, not me. He should know. So now, I am left wondering, "What do I do now?" Perhaps there is a whole separate issue of anxiety about to arise? What if I slip into a dark pit of psychosis driven madness? What if my world shatters and I am left all alone to slowly attempt to assemble the pieces, only to find it pieces no longer resemble my former life but a poorly constructed mosaic more reminiscent of Picasso paining?

OK, that might be a bit over dramatic. In the end, I am left to my own devices. And after all the time I spent with Chuck, it appears I have actually made some real progress; found some real inner understanding.

So why is it the only thing I can remember very clearly, is that if I pick up my underwear I might get laid?