[ friedrich nietzsche is my shrink ]
"You're deluding yourself!" he shouted so emphatically that he was almost spitting.
"Honestly, Reg, would you just give it a rest?"
He stared at her across the table, unblinking, his hands flat and splayed as if he was preparing to leap out of his seat. "Clara, you know I love you, right?" he said, tapping one forefinger gently. "You know I am not trying to start shit with you, here. God, I'm just trying to get you to think!"
Clara bit her lip, holding back those tears she hated, the ones that always seemed to surface when they talked about this.
"I am thinking, Reg. I don't go to that 'shitty' church anymore, I told you that." She made quotation marks with her fingers to emphasize his favorite word. "I found a new one, a better one..."
"That doesn't mean jack shit to me, Clara. Think of it this way. Say there's this guy who drinks beer every night until he's completely shitfaced. He starts to realize his life is going to hell, so he signs up for a shrink. The shrink tells him his problem is that he's becoming a raging alcoholic and he should stop drinking beer or he's gonna end up sitting by the town hall, begging for spare change. The guy's like 'fine, I'll stop drinking beer,' so he goes home and starts drinking straight vodka instead."
Clara stared back at him, her eyes narrowing. "I never thought my life was going to hell," she said. "That was just you." And she rose, pushing her chair in forcefully, and then the only sound left in the room was the ringing vibration of a slammed door.
"Honestly, Reg, would you just give it a rest?"
He stared at her across the table, unblinking, his hands flat and splayed as if he was preparing to leap out of his seat. "Clara, you know I love you, right?" he said, tapping one forefinger gently. "You know I am not trying to start shit with you, here. God, I'm just trying to get you to think!"
Clara bit her lip, holding back those tears she hated, the ones that always seemed to surface when they talked about this.
"I am thinking, Reg. I don't go to that 'shitty' church anymore, I told you that." She made quotation marks with her fingers to emphasize his favorite word. "I found a new one, a better one..."
"That doesn't mean jack shit to me, Clara. Think of it this way. Say there's this guy who drinks beer every night until he's completely shitfaced. He starts to realize his life is going to hell, so he signs up for a shrink. The shrink tells him his problem is that he's becoming a raging alcoholic and he should stop drinking beer or he's gonna end up sitting by the town hall, begging for spare change. The guy's like 'fine, I'll stop drinking beer,' so he goes home and starts drinking straight vodka instead."
Clara stared back at him, her eyes narrowing. "I never thought my life was going to hell," she said. "That was just you." And she rose, pushing her chair in forcefully, and then the only sound left in the room was the ringing vibration of a slammed door.