Read Online Going in Circles by Pamela Ribon - Free Book Online

the Fuck You Shower Curtain, and the Fuck You Lamp. These things only have to be purchased once, and the more you slash items off your list, the easier it gets. There. Done. Fuck You Scrub Brush. Fuck YouWeird Little Bowl I Need by the Bed for When I Take Off My Earrings at Night.
    The Fuck You Television was her finest purchase. There was no doubt that it was new, no doubt that it was hers, and there was nothing anybody could say about it other than, “Wow, look at your television!” In fact, the best part of the Fuck You Television is that Charlotte doesn’t have to do anything to entertain people when they come over other than turn that beautiful machine on. It is an instant crowd-pleaser. Right now, Andy’s adoring it, watching an episode of
House,
wearing a grin almost as large as the screen.
    â€œThis thing is amazing. The resolution is so ridiculous I can count Hugh Laurie’s pores!”
    I crawl onto the Fuck You Couch beside him and bury my head in his lap.
    â€œThank you for my mouth guard case,” I tell him.
    â€œ
Mnuh
,” he says, more to the television than to me.
    â€œCan I ask you something personal?”
    â€œThat’s the best kind of question.”
    I roll toward him, burying my face in his stomach before I ask, “Do you know a good therapist?”
    He kisses his palm and places it on the back of my neck, his gaze still transfixed by the Fuck You Television. “Of course I do,
mamacita
,” he says. Then he nudges my chin with the tip of his finger, his eyes finally meeting mine as he says with rare sincerity: “I’m really glad you asked.”

8.
    I ’m spending my lunch break auditioning for a therapist. Apparently my health insurance will cover therapy sessions only if the counselor and randomly assigned caseworker decide I’m in need of mental guidance. As if it’s not humiliating enough to ask for help getting through the day, now I have to find out if I’m the only one who thinks I need it. What if they’re both, like,
“Suck it up. Other people have actual problems, you baby”
? I think the trick is to sound just crazy enough to make this therapist find me entertaining in a weekly-visit sort of way, but not balls-out-crazy at the level at which I need to be institutionalized.
    The irony does not escape me that in Los Angeles even the shrinks make you go in for an audition. Maybe I should bring a head shot and résumé:
“Hi, I played Girl Who Loses Her Shit at a Ruby Tuesday about six months ago for the Santa Monica Third Street Promenade Players. Here’s a CT scan of my skull, a list of past boyfriends for references, and the last birthday card I received from my mother, the one that says, ‘Soon you won’t be able to make me grandchildren.’ ”
    Andy reluctantly admitted that he knew about this therapist from an ex-girlfriend who had gone through a divorce.“She seemed completely healthy about the marriage breaking up,” he said as he handed me Dr. Hemphill’s number. “But luckily she was still riddled with self-doubt. It’s much easier to break up with them that way.”
    â€œMaybe he’s not such a great therapist, then.”
    â€œHe’s a
psychiatrist,
” Andy said, pausing for a second as he got distracted by his own arm muscles. He squeezed his right hand into a fist as he watched his forearm flex.
    â€œSo?”
    â€œIt means he can give you really good drugs. Which you should insist he do. Tell him you can’t sleep, you can’t eat, you can’t stop crying.”
    â€œThat wouldn’t exactly be lying,” I pointed out. “But you don’t think it’s weird to take pills that will make me trick myself into thinking everything’s okay?”
    â€œAt this point, I don’t know how you could think that would be a bad thing.”
    This morning, when I made today’s plan, I made sure to insist I