Chapter 42

Okay, I hate admitting this because of its connotations, but I do go to therapy. I don’t have any mental conditions to write home about, I just find spending $150 a week to talk about myself without interruption for an hour totally worth it.

I began ranting about work, and my therapist asked why I was putting up with Susan Ellen. I was spending hours at her house, working on her book, teaching her how to use a really expensive cell phone, writing all of her emails, reorganizing her office, remembering to jot down all the ideas she had for this children’s book, and I think I may have spoon fed her a liver tonic one time. I can’t remember.

My therapist told me that Susan Ellen was relying on me too much. She called Susan Ellen a physic vampire - she was sucking all of the life out of me. It was true. I wasn’t performing. I wasn’t writing the things I wanted to write. She was calling me in the middle of the night. I got up in the morning, drove three hours to Susan Ellen’s, would be there for about ten hours, drive home, go to sleep, and do the same thing again the next day.

I told my therapist that I had to do these things. Susan Ellen was deaf, lost her short-term memory, and a brain dead person has the capability to diagnose her with ADD.

“If Susan Ellen is how you describe her, she wouldn’t have been able to accomplish anything before you started working for her. I think she’s smarter than you think. She’s using these minor mental conditions to manipulate you into working for her non-stop. She’s making you feel guilty for wanting to live your own life,” my therapist responded.

Oh my God? Was Susan Ellen pretending to be stupid to manipulate me by evoking my pity? Maybe she is smart.

I did that one time. Growing up, I went to a Jewish sleep away camp and we always had hebrew school where we had to learn Jewish shit. B-to-the-oring. One day the rabbi was reading us a story and then we had to split into groups to discuss the story. I, of course, was not paying any attention. I think I might’ve been fantasizing about being a power ranger or something. Needless to say, when we had to split up in groups I was asked questions about the story and could not answer them. So, I told everyone the reason I didn’t comprehend the story was because I had a learning disorder and did not spend the last half hour off in fantasy world. So after that, guess what lucky girl got to color with broken crayons instead of hearing the Hanukkah story for the umpteenth time?

Susan Ellen was doing the same thing! She was probably using her disability as an excuse to not live up to her responsibilities and get someone else to take care of her shit. It was pretty genius on her part and probably something I would do once I become master of the universe. But for now, fuck that shit. I’m hypocritical; bite me. It was time to take a stand.

The next day I arrived at Susan Ellen’s house early and found myself picking up all of the dried up dog shit around her house from her mutant puppies.

Way to have balls, Becky…