The New Story

I am happy to report to you, my six followers and whoever else out there who might be reading that my therapy has ended, for now, with the ability to call if I need to. The telltale sign that let me and my therapist to make the choice was the incredible feat of self-preservation that I took on my work anniversary.
Picture this...a sunny morning in March, I arrive at my desk to find the two golden balloons that represent the two years that I have devoted to being the Boss of the Lobby. Congratualations, right? No, actually, no. What about my first year here? I was here for eleven months before I got hired on. Eleven months, people! That is almost a year with no paid vacation and no health insurance and having to work with one of the craziest bitches I have ever met in my life just to get my foot in the door. I did it happily. I loved coming here and was happy to have a job with a steady paycheck that I enjoyed. It wasn't a difficult job, there were projects to work on for different departments, new people to meet, a parade of handsome gentlemen to check out. Still, though, there is something weird about not acknowledging a whole year of one's life, don't you think? All I could think of all day was people saying "Oh! Happy Anniversary! Two years? Wow!" and I would be all "Actually, it's been more like three" and get all pissy and resentful. So, I nipped it in the bud. I popped the balloons and the sound reverberated loudly all through the lobby and through my soul, breaking through the tension and saving me a whole day of growing resentment and anger. THAT, my friends, is theraputic.