On the couch

I'm in therapy right now. I'm not ashamed of that fact. What? I'm not. Seriously. No, fuck YOU. Asshole.

Anyway, I'm really digging therapy, I love my doctor, all is going well. But something struck me this morning. There's something vaguely whorish about the experience. So you go in, you talk, you get really, really intimate with this person who is basically a stranger. Your brain tricks you into thinking they're your friend, your close confidante.

And then: the bill comes. And you have to pay for the services rendered. It's a little bit of a shock to the system. Like, you forget, as your working your shit out and talking about all kinds of personal things, that you're paying for this person's time. It's not like I'm ejaculating in the guy's office, but still...

I was almost a little hurt when he handed me the bill for the month. And not just because of how ungodly expensive it is, but because I had forgotten that this is a doctor and you pay your doctor. And, of course, my doctor is out-of-network so that blows.

Wouldn't it be interesting if actual prostitutes were covered by insurance? Like you could buy, or your company could provide hooker insurance? And you could go to In-network prostitutes for no co-pay. "Hey big spender, 50 bucks'll getcha a good time..." "Do you take CIGNA?" "No, sorry sugar, just Guardian and AETNA..." "Eh, sorry, I'm gonna have to pass. I haven't reached my deductible yet."

Insurance is weird.