To Do

Posted on July 9, 2009



– find therapist
– clean bathroom
– read chapter of novel
– buy coffee
– write decent blog post

“Hi, I’m calling about uh, trying to find a therapist.”
“Yes sir, I think we can help you.”
“I’m looking for someone to talk to.”
“What is the nature of your problems.”
“I ah, I get depressed.”
“I get depressed by things that are supposed to be uplifting. Sunshine, baby animals, Beach Boys songs.”
“I see. Alright, we are currently accepting new clients. Do you have medical coverage?”
“Our rates start at 120 dollars per hour.”

I hang up the phone. This is the third therapist I’ve tried. Something seems phony about the entire institution to me. The first one sounded more angst-ridden herself. The second one was a Dr.Mary Klein and she had a voice deeper than mine. The third call started talking about money. I felt cheap. I thought maybe for that price I could pay a prostitute to both sleep with me and console me through life’s problems.

– find therapist  √

My bathroom smells of smoke and urine. I step into the room wearing gloves and clutching bottle of disinfectant in either hand. I scan the ceiling and count the colors of mold growing on it. The sink is filled with my roommate’s whiskers and the tub has footprints in it. I decide to listen to Alan Watts on my Ipod as I clean. He starts talking about man being nothing but an ego housed in a bag of skin. I am on all fours in the tub scrubbing out the footprints. The dirt color is strange, almost bluish in color. As I scrub my eyes keep wandering over to the drain. I imagine I can hear faint sounds coming from the depths of the tub pipes. I take off my headphones and lean in to the drain.
“Hello,” I whisper. “Help.”

– clean bathroom  √

I have never read a novel in my life. I have never read a full newspaper article, magazine, pamphlet or coloring book. I am beginning to wonder if I have ever even had the gumption to finish reading a single sentence. I take out Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami. I open to the first chapter of the book.

“So you’re all set for money, then?”

I close the book. I don’t want to read such a capitalist bullshit novel. This is the twelfth novel I have attempted this week. I don’t judge books by their covers, I judge them by their initial sentences. This makes me very lonely because as my father says “the second best way to commune with a person next to love (which is bullshit) is by reading their novel.”

– read chapter of novel √

I have been so upset with myself lately that I’ve found innovative ways to torture myself. Every day I go to the coffee shop and buy the most expensive fair-trade coffee. Instead of drinking it, I sit at the corner booth in the shop and stare at the cup. I slowly count while watching steam come from the cup. I keep counting until I can no longer see steam. When I am convinced all of the heat in the mug is dead, I drink the cold coffee. I try to drink it all in one gulp. It is always terrible.

– Buy Coffee  √

Posted in: July 2009