Tuesday, January 04, 2011

Why I'm not a therapist



My past two years of dealing with Sandruh's shit taught me something: Neurosis is interesting when it's read about (one's favorite poets, artists, et al), but not so much when you have to deal with it first-hand. Wish I could have been more patient; I was certainly not. Were I to go back and change anything, I'd maybe not call Sandruh a whore in public. Perhaps I should have been stronger and cut things off after Christmas 2008. (After a mere two months, though? Nah... had to let it play out a bit longer.) In the end, Sandruh's annoying passivity, Daddy-fixation, and sleeping-with-anyone-who-paid-attention-to-her-EXCEPT ME(!) truly brought out the mean drill sergeant in me in search of clarity. Didn't like her, didn't like me as a result. That's what it turned into, though. It was what it was.

Now, to get the Leo ME back. (Can't stand that murky, convoluted, negative Scorpio shit one whit longer.)

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