Sometimes I get so lonely that I sit in my living room having left the front door and all the windows unlocked, waiting there, hoping that somebody will break in and I’ll have company for a short while, before they proceed to stab me, rob me, or whatever else they are planning to do.
This week is prime opportunity for this sort of thing, because not only is my front door open, but also the main entrance downstairs is permanently unlocked, because they’re installing a new door and they haven’t connected the security system yet. Anyone can basically walk in. This is the second mistake they’ve made when it comes to this renovation, the first being that they’re replacing the old, wooden, sturdy doors that have been there for at least thirty years with a set of retro post-modern glass doors that I doubt will take the impact of my bike as I drag it in and out every time I leave home with the same resilience that the scuffed wooden doors did.
On this Tuesday night I sit and wait but no one comes, and then I go downstairs myself to check the mail, seeing that I’m starting to get cabin fever.
As nothing has arrived for me, I steal my neighbour’s New Yorker, only to go back into my apartment, google his name and realise that he’s a family therapist, which makes me want to go next-door and seek help.
I text A Girl to run my idea by a second, more reasonable person, and A Girl eventually replies.
A Girl: I would be very tempted to do that.
Me: I don’t even have a family. Should I make one up just for my family sessions?
A Girl: Say your family refuses to go, what else can you do to better yourself, wait for them to come around whilst you waste your life away? I think not, family therapy for you. If you like, I can be your estranged wife or sister on conference call.
Me: We are doing this.
A Girl: He will be so confused (as my own issues / family issues will inevitably seep into the talks).
Me: “Let me get this straight. How many husbands do you have?”
A Girl: “That’s beside the point.”
Me: “This is more confusing than the time my New Yorker subscription suddenly stopped arriving.”
A Girl: “Will you please stop interrupting, we are paying you by the hour. Now back to where I left off about London Preppy always making me feel my time is not worth as much as his time, that I’m somehow a failure for not having a job or career I love.”
Me: “Wait a minute, London Preppy doesn’t have a job or career at all and his time is literally worthless. Where are you getting all this? How many of us do you see here?”
A Girl: And this is where he starts to compile his case study on us, excellent.
Then I get tired of waiting for an intruder, so I go to the gym.