I was reading the book “Eat, Pray, Love” that my ex gave me right before she moved out, making it ridiculously hard to enjoy without wondering every two pages, is this why she left me?  No, this must be why why she left.  Great book.  I look forward to reading it again in a few years, imagining then why I think she left.



My therapist told me a story. “When I was an intern, and I was about to go into a room with my first psyche ward patient, my supervisor warned me, `Now look, you’re about to go into a room where one person will be crazy.  Make sure it isn’t you,’ he said.  Ever since then,” he explained, he has made a point of not engaging with someone who is acting crazy.  He has urged me to follow his example.  I haven’t always been able to be the sane one in the room.  I often get sucked into the vortex of crazy town and never emerge from there any wiser or happier.  The reason I’m drawn in to the town in the first place usually stems from a nugget of crazy gold that shines in my pocket and it whispers to me like Gollum, urging me to go into town to see if I can fix my childhood wounds through my present relationship.  But crazy town always wins the fight.  I end up with my pants around my ankles, my gun belt missing, and urine stains on my chaps.  I continue to think, maybe I can get close to her.  Maybe we will end up making-up and making love.  Maybe she will forget this nonsense and we can fall to sleep in one another’s arms dreaming of freshly shorn sheep.  But alas, I never come out on top when I venture too deep into crazy town.  I try to stick to the out-skirting perimeter of town these days.  Maybe we can kiss and make up without that crazy town.