For those who missed the metaphor the wizard is the psychologist. It seemed like a fitting title at the time. You know, hoping she could give me a brain, heart, courage and help me find my way home.
That being said I ain't been to see no wizard since .... well, months. Does that mean I'm doing well? Or does it mean I'm doing denial well?
I see the Oracle regularly. That be the psychiatrist. But then if I don't go he cuts off my supply of happy pills. And as my husband diplomatically brought to my attention, without my meds I'm a bit of a bitch.
I bit my tongue and didn't explain that it was he who brought out the bitch in me.
Now see, the fact that I didn't lose it and bite his head off should prove that I'm not a chemically induced crazy woman. I'm a very patient, very controlled and very restrained wife of an idiot, bastard pain in the ass.
If ever there was a man in need of performance enhancing drugs it would be him. I sorely need a real man in my life. NOT what you're thinking. I just wish this husband could take some kind of energy pill so he wouldn't sleep all the time, and so he could clean, drill, fix and fit shit around the house.
Should I consider trading sexual favours for curtain rails (since I've blown most of my savings on bathroom remodeling)? Do you think it would work? A blow job for and drill job. Any one out there willing and able to fit a heated towel rail? Wait, did you think I meant buy his services with sex? Like I haven't tried that already.
But seriously, the pools not green but black. The leftover bathroom building supplies are all over the lounge. Does he expect me to carry away tiles and cement?
Ah forget it. What good's complaining gonna do.
The point way up front was that I'm back on the pill and the Oracle says I'm looking good. He's words "not at all like someone who need a psychiatrist". So Yay for me :-).
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