donut therapy

Appointments, appointments. Wasn't I just at this place last night? What, is this my new home now?

Everyone wants to look at my head. Turn it this way, now this way, ok, freeze, and...

Shrink it, sink it, turn it all pink-ish.

Slice it, dice it, spin it around twice-ish.

Blast it, fast it, examine its past-ish.

Hurry it, curry it, make it work and scurry it.

Melt it, felt it, think i just smelt it! (ish!)

Smack it. Whack it. Put it in a straight jacket.

Medicate. Set a date. Get me out that gate.

Tag it, Bag it, Gag it-till-it- uh, is there a word for vomit that rhymes with gag?

never mind.

So tell me, do you ever hear voices in your head?

"oh yes, in fact, just yesterday Scooby-Doo was having a conversation with Fred Flinstone and then Donald Trump jumped in with an infomercial about belly button re-tie-nation for outties..." (don't ask, childhood joke, big brothers like to tease younger sisters about stupid junk)

And do you ever see things that other people cannot see?

"well, no, but my cat used to do that, he drove me crazy. Does that count?"

Do you ever intentionally inflict bodily injury upon yourself?

"hmmm, does that include eating waaaaaaayyyy too many strawberries in May and inflicting on myself many painful hours of sitting in the bathroom?" "TMI???" oh. sorry.

It's so much easier to joke about these expensive visits to the shrink than to really share how I feel about them.

that's all i can say for now.

Have a nice day. A happy mental health day. Tell them I sent you.

 

The bill is HOW MUCH????

Seriously, that would've bought a LOT of donuts.

Probably would've been much better for me, too.

Donut therapy.

love it.

 

 

 

 

 

Posted with Blogsy