100 Words - Dream Journal

 

My therapist told me to keep a dream diary. A week later I had nine pages of details on my nightmares. Scary shit. She started glancing through and declared that it was fairly normal stuff. Then she came across the index and source references at the back.

Apparently getting in touch with my feelings is supposed to be a free-form mess of random thoughts. My therapist does not understand how painful it would be for me to not have structure. Maybe I need a new therapist.

Besides that, she always smells like cheese. Good cheese, but cheese none the less.

100 Words - Inner Critics

 

My inner critics will not behave. They are poking around in my brain causing random tears, laughter and erections. I’m 60 years old. I should have control of the these things. My family says I need therapy. I just think I need more beer.

Therapy scares me. It eventually helped my mother, but she went through Hell on the way.

It’s all puberty’s fault. I had a wonderful singing voice before all those hormones got involved. Then I had to stop hugging my friends. My friends then were mostly girls for some reason. I never actually needed to question why.