My psychiatrist went AWOL.
We’ve been meeting every other week for a couple years. Our last appointment that she made it to was on January 12.
But we had a Zoom call today.
It’s as awkward as a first date, at first. Where the fuck do I start with her? I’m angry she bailed on so many appointments, most of which she didn’t communicate with me about.
I’m hurt that after 10 years as her patient she wouldn’t at least tell me she’s going through some shit and can’t meet, leaving me to wait on a Zoom meeting that won’t happen or wonder whether I should be traveling to her office. I want her to understand that for a couple weeks I was checking obituaries for her name.
But I also have bitches to talk about. So we talked about bitches.
The big revelation isn’t very big: I don’t want to be a sugar daddy.
My ex-wife, Sara, married me for two reasons: 1. My parents had money, and 2. I had the potential to make money.
I paid for groceries, rent, clothes, nights out, and trips, for most of our six years of marriage (her parents covered the first two). She cleaned me out in the divorce. She walked away with tens of thousands of dollars and I walked away with a car she’d driven into a lamppost. She also told most of our friends that I was an abuser and an alcoholic1, especially our friends who had money.
Then I dated Callie. Callie was mostly great. But she was broke, and so was I, but I had a little more, enough to help her out a few times, which I did.
So here’s the biggest difference between Florence and Ali, as far as I’m concerned: Florence has a fulfilling but low-paying pair of part-time jobs, while Ali has a job that flies her to Paris and Dubai (she’s in Paris now).
This is the first time in my life that I’ve factored money into my romantic choices. It makes me feel old, but I’d rather feel old than deal with overdraft fees.