M is for Myg

I think I need to fire my therapist.

On her advice I went out job hunting. She said I have poor self-esteem and that if I become a contributing member of society, my black outs will go away. Well If that was the case, why the hell did I need that stupid blood test?

See, Doctor Moody always has some “intervention” in mind that involves me doing something I don’t want to do. All in the name of growth, reaching one’s potential, etc, etc, blah, blah who needs that crap? All I wanted was a way to stop waking up into someone else’s life. But I got a hell of a lot more than that.

“You live with a very deep internal conflict, Mygdala,” Dr. Moody said in our last session. “It must be hell inside your head.”

And I guess sometimes it is. Though according to her, I hate myself so much that my personality keeps splitting–like one half of me doesn’t know the other. This is what she believes is causing all my blackouts.

“There’s more than one of you in there.”

Well, how else could you explain it? While I’d never really considered myself a self-loather, when she pointed out all that was wrong with me–no family, no education, no job, no skills, both friends and strangers trying to kill me–it was easy to see it her way.

She told me I had to make something of my life if I wanted to eradicate the scourge of hell inside of me. So I applied for a job at the Wawa. And I was very optimistic about this new bold step I was taking.

But then I met the manager.

How was I to know the Philly Filcher was working there? I’d heard that she’d been acquitted of all charges, sure, but I still never expected this. She sure wasn’t happy to see me applying for a job–not after after our little run-in at the Quik Stop.

So, just imagine how awkward it was when mid-interview I started getting that tingly, light-headed sensation. I thought it was another panic attack at first, but then, just as she was asking for my references, I nodded out. Or rather, I was forcibly teleported out.

“Get up, Mygdala.” It sounded like Dr. Moody, but it sure as hell didn’t look like her.

Now, how would you feel if you woke up out of a forced teleport and saw some huge evil vixen staring you in the face? Okay, well at first you might be like, “Coooool. . .” but then, you’d be kind of upset I think. At least I was.

“I have the results of your blood test, my dear. I’m afraid your time is really up now.”

“My time?” I’d just gotten there! I was going to ask her what the hell she was talking about. Was this SL time? GMT? But then Vanny showed up, and I had my answer.

Or so I thought.

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This entry was posted on Saturday, May 26th, 2007 at 7:00 am and is filed under Capers, Met a stranger, Second Life.