Reconciliation

Not the sacrament. Conceptually similar.

Back in high school I dated this guy on and off for three years. The break-up was ragged, potentially bloody, and rather predictable from an outside perspective. Our relationship could be summed up in a black-and-white photo taken my Sophomore year. I was sitting on a ledge with my ex-boyfriend, his arm around me, his afro wild, and my expression embarrassed and unamused. It would later be my mother's favorite picture, taking its place next to my parents' wedding portrait.

When I started dating Bastian, my ex-boyfriend was rather put out. His feelings had been betrayed, and could not bring himself to talk to me. Having cared for him and then still, and made an honest of attempt to reconcile. Unfortunately, according to most he hated me...in all sense of the word. Against my better judgment, I gave up.

I'd avoided his company for a year and a half. This was not intentional and certainly not preferred. I'd often conjured elaborate scenarios of our dramatic, tearful reconciliation. I wanted us to be friends again. Love has a way of lingering -- I knew we could not be separated forever.

My boyfriend plays soccer with a group of people including my ex-boyfriend. I'm always invited to play, but have never taken the opportunity. I don't want to cause a fight when people were trying to have fun. Besides, I have two left feet when it comes to soccer...I'd hurt someone

This evening I discarded my seasonal flip flops for sneakers, and biked toward the soccer field without any regret in my mind. Perhaps the summer heat had melted my brain, but my usually nervous disposition was replaced by enthusiasm and reckless bravery. I had every intention to confront my ex-boyfriend and make amends.

...it was as if we'd never fought. He was enjoying college, work, and life in general. This was more than I could say for myself, but I remained vague in the description of my life. It was wonderful to talk to him. He retained everything I liked about him. All scenarios I had envisioned seemed so juvenile, and we conversed comfortably.

Bastian is horrified, but I assured him that ex-boyfriend and I are friends. Bastian has one jealously complex to rule them all...more on this later. Hasta pasta.

Frozen Kit Kat Bars

Kit Kat bars should be avoided by all Katherines. Certainly there are a few of us who enjoy getting creeped upon, but as for myself, Kit Kat bars have always been problematic.

I've had my share of nicknames (as many Katherine's can relate). I've been called Katie, Kate, Kathy, Kath, Kit, Kat, and Carol. Anyways, a Kit Kat wrapper is the perfect way to attract your favorite Katherine's attention, with very little cost to yourself. Simply cross out the 'Kit' part with a Sharpie, and replace it with your name.

...Examples I have encountered are "Josh+Kat", "Stuart+ Kat", "Vince+Kat", "Mike+Kat", "Chris+Kat", and "Joe+Kat".

And if you're really bold; "Chris+Kat...PROM?"

It goes to show how very creative and humorously unoriginal guys are. It's my favorite example of obscure irony.

Intuition

It's a funny thing. Normally, my gut instinct is correct (especially when detecting sex offenders).

Now, Mrs. Penguin told me that her psychologist recommended my psychologist with the greatest assurance that her practice was no less than excellent. Mrs. Penguin trusts her psychologists with her life, and gave me equal assurance that she would only recommend the best.

...PhD or not, there's something fishy about the zomb-- psychologist, lady. We set up an appointment for Tuesday August 3rd at 3:30. Firstly, she thinks 3:30 is the morning (...perhaps she needs time to apply makeup over her decaying corpse...), and secondly, she is awfully cold on the telephone. I thought I was addressing the Reverend Mother.

I'll do it for Mrs. Penguin. Though, she'll be sorry when my brains are consumed by a psychologist zombie.

March to the Scaffold

I gave in and called that psychologist person, thing...

I shouldn't be so harsh. I'm sure she's a nice, educated woman, who's passion is to pick at her victim's vulnerable brains. Much like a zombie.

My boyfriend's mother (in search of an alias, and proper noun, I'll refer to her as Mrs. Penguin) has been trying to persuade me to seek psychiatric "care" for about a month now. She believes I will feel much more at ease about the chaos in my life...by telling my secrets to someone I am determined not to trust.

My boyfriend isn't helping (I deem him 'Bastian', because there is an advertisement for Bastian products on the side panel). He advocates psychologists, and possibly Mike Cox. I feel comfortable talking him about everything, and that's truly all I need in order to feel content. I don't want a psycho taking his place.

Not that I want to dump everything on Bastian! Heavens, no. In fact, he always seems to know when something is wrong and then pressures me into spilling my guts. Perhaps he is a zombie, too.

This would have been posted yesterday, but Dad chooses to unplug the router when it is least convenient for myself.

Sociophobia

The fear of social evaluation. ...and the irony is, I wanted to be a psychologist during the whole of my high school career.

I've been ordered to seek psychiatric help because my family has gone absolutely crazy without any signs of resolution. I can safely say that all families are hopelessly crazy. If you insist that yours in an exception, then I am astounded that the Lollipop Guild has been able to coexist with humans. Where can I purchase a pair of those striped tights?

I was under the grand assumption that I had no tangible fears (in the sense that I could never specify anything). I love heights, water, small spaces, lightening, and Chinese people. To my astonishment, I'm able to clearly identify a rather problematic phobia: I am deathly afraid of psychologists.

No. Really. I don't want to see one, and I hope It doesn't come after me.

Perhaps I am very similar to my father; who has acrophobia but works with scaffolding. I've been a counselor for so many of my friends, that I would never dream of confiding in anyone. I've never been in a situation where I wasn't the deemed analyst.

I don't want to see a psychologist. I have nothing to say to the woman. I will inquire about her health, and eat breath mints...but I will not trust her with my feelings.