The Youths These Days
Added 2019-02-14 04:33:35 +0000 UTCI tried out a new therapist.
She has a funny-lookin’ dog with a hurt paw and no hair.
It took me 16 minutes to bus to her office and then I got comically lost on the way back and wound up walking 45 minutes in the kind of wind and rain that sucks your umbrella inside-out, like in a cartoon.
I cried at my haircut appointment in the morning and I cried at my therapy session in the afternoon and I cried while I tracked and back-tracked and re-tracked across NW Portland in the pouring rain until I thought about how absurd this all is and in ten years I’ll be 45 and I’ll think “You sweet summer child, you thought those were problems? Let’s trade, you take mine and I’ll take yours, cos at least I know how yours will go, I know we make it through ‘em. I don’t have a clue what to do with mine now.”
Or, more likely, “I don’t remember what you were crying about, I don’t remember that day at all, but that photo looks like you’re shooting interior art to accompany the lyrics inside your 90s CD insert.” and then our grandcat will ask “Grammas, what’s a CD?” and 45-year-old Erika and 35-year-old Erika will look at each other with a knowing smile and sigh in good natured mock exasperation about The Youths These Days as we hoverboard over to the time synchronicity repair hydro station.
(Originally posted on Instagram)
Comments
The last sentence brought a smile to my face. I cry at therapy so often I've started to feel like if I don't shed at least a few tears I haven't worked hard enough. Trying to forget that notion.
The Ferret
2019-02-14 04:54:53 +0000 UTC
