THERAPY IN A COFFEE SHOP

  
I met my other therapist a few days ago—not the professionally trained degreed woman skilled at tossing reflexive questions my way—no, I met a Detroit poet at a coffee shop and he said something to the affect of “Smile motherfucker” before snapping this mugshot. He also gave me his son’s Darth-Vader talking-head-stick with four buttons to push when confronted about marital assets or other trivial possessions accumulated over the years of one’s marriage:

Button one: “I had enough.”
Button two: “Don’t underestimate the force.”
Button three: What is thy bidding, my master?”
Button four: “I want them alive!”

I haven’t been served my divorce papers, or whatever they’re called nowadays, but through that magical portal called the internet I discovered the following “Non-April Fool’s Day” filing/charges against yours truly, the listed defendant:

Ex Parte Order for Status Quo – SGD
Ex Parte Mutual Preliminary Injunction Order – SGD
Record of Divorce/Annulment Received
Summons Issued (Expires 7/5/11)
Complaint/Petition Filed
Entry Fee $150.00.

So the process of wiping out 18 years of marriage will soon be nothing more than court proceedings instead of the personal explanation of “I can’t make you happy.” I’m not sure what that means, but I’ll store it in my memory bank alongside “I don’t hate you, I just don’t love you” and “You’re an excellent father.”

My buttons have been pushed these past few days and I’m trying to hold my head up and move forward. Running every day seems to help.

In case you’re wondering who that Detroit poet is it’s none-other than Mark C. Durfee, author of The Line Between and Stink. He offered me all kinds of retaliatory options, knowing I’d never act on them. “That isn’t your style,” he said, “you have too much care and concern within you. Your petty meanness is stolen from you at your job and she (meaning “my wife”) is fortunate for that, it makes it easy to target you with what she perceives as your failings.”

I’d like to thank Mark for those free sessions. I can’t help but think about my very own “line between”—a reference he made to that short dash on one’s grave-marker, how it represents all our actions between life and death, and I can only hope that my good deeds outweigh my faults.