Crocodile Tears

Update 11:45   Am home, safe and sound.

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Well, I’m about to do something that I almost never do:  I’m going to see a client I truly dislike.  

      Not one of my prouder moments. 

      I sessioned with him once about six months ago, and once was enough.  This dude is ugly in every sense of the word.  He visits NYC from the West Coast and had a cold intelligence to him.  Usually the smart ones are delighted when Miss Margo, nerdy bookworm extraordinaire, raps on their door–I think they usually expect some scary tattooed stripper type who smokes in the elevator.  

     Not this guy.  He sized me up in about five minutes.  I could see his mind working, wondering what to do with me.  I could tell that he found my intelligence to be a liability. Usually I can charm them, if I put my mind to it, or ferret out some warmth or playfulness.  

    Not this one.  He’s crocodile all the way.  He wears a wedding ring.  No clue who his wife is, of course, but I suspect she needs xanax and scotch to get to sleep at night.  

   But it’s a short month, and I lost a week of productivity because I was messed up in the head over the Mathematician.  Almost two weeks, actually.  I went to my teaching job, but I was just going through the motions.  It’s a blur.  The only thing that I remember acutely is the grief.  I lost 11 lbs on the pain-and-insomnia diet, and I wasn’t even trying.  

       I still can’t believe he did that to me.  I felt like he threw me out of a goddamn window.  


     I’m usually not a clock-watcher, but tonight I’m setting the timer.  He gets 60 minutes of my time.  And I’m leaving my heavy artillery at home (did I mention it’s a sub session?).  He wants to hit me with something really substantial, he’ll have to produce it himself.  

     The rent’s not going to pay itself. 

      And with that: I’m off.

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