Junkfood Sexlife. Jessamyn Violet

He threw a lid on the cup and grabbed a straw. “C’mon, buddy! Let’s go!”

      Rusty ambled along behind him, never to be rushed.

      Auggie sure admired that dog. Every day, stepping out of the house excited to walk around and smell stuff, even though he couldn’t see a damn thing in front of him. Rusty would forge ahead so surely when he was, in fact, never quite sure what lay ahead of him, and often times would stumble off of or into curbs. He’d never even pause to feel sorry for himself, just keep going like he knew exactly where he was headed. It was an incredible daily performance—tear-worthy, really. The old copper lab gave Auggie inspiration to leave the house every day. If Rusty could be excited about it and he was blind, what the hell was Auggie’s excuse?

      Dr. Philip K. Parker::

      “Right. So what makes you think this juice-making woman is a different story than the others, Auggie?” Philip leaned forward in his chair as he stroked his left mutton chop and tried to look pensive. Whenever he felt especially tired or bored, he made sure to pull hard in the opposite direction. He didn’t earn his $250/hour easily, that was for certain.

      “I don’t know, man, Dr. Phil. You know, you just sometimes have this feeling like a lady is different than the others. Like she’s been through some sort of life tumbler that’s polished her into a rare gem.”

      “Woah, Auggie,” Philip said. “That’s a bit idealistic for a stranger, isn’t it?”

      “It’s true,” Auggie said as he leaned back on the couch, his arms clutching his knees. “Anyway, I just asked her out. I always thought she was taken, I don’t know why. I know it’s a little early to be talking about her. And I’m still seeing Stevia, who is a goddess but obviously very calculating, though I don’t think against me. I think she just doesn’t take me seriously, and that starts to weigh on your heart after a while, you know? Someone refuses to see you in a way other than ‘not good enough’ and you can only take so much of that.”

      Philip stifled a yawn and felt his eyes water up. He blinked hard and attempted encouraging. “From what you’ve told me, you’ve been having a perfectly fine time with Stevia. An enviably good time, come to think of it. So what makes you suspect this? Has she ever actually said that you weren’t good enough? Or are you projecting that opinion on her? Is it you that actually doesn’t think you’re good enough?”

      Auggie looked down at his big hands, which had found their way back into his lap. Auggie reminded Philip of an overly-suspicious hybrid of caveman, golden retriever, and bear. He had both a happy-go-lucky sensitive side and a dark depth that continued to surprise Philip, the former of which especially, since Auggie had done two tours in Afghanistan and had somehow not become a serious drug addict.

      Philip genuinely admired that Auggie refused to take meds and he didn’t really blame him for thinking everything was a conspiracy. In fact, Philip kind of agreed with Auggie, there. He, too, felt like everything was a trap. And that even just thinking that was a trap in itself. Life sure was a long, glorious mindfuck, wasn’t it? That was why he’d become a psychologist: No shortage of demand, there, and he loved sitting on the throne of knowledge in the world’s most stupefying court. He’d be self-employed until he didn’t want to be anymore. That felt like a good enough life to him, even though he was mind-ironingly bored the majority of the time. He’d learned early on that the real trick to psychotherapy was asking good questions and letting the patient do most of the coming to conclusions.

      Like now, for example. Auggie was shifting things around in his head, putting the self-portrait puzzle together for himself. Philip had to stifle another yawn while watching him sort it all out. He desperately wanted to check his phone to see if the cute brunette he’d matched with on LoveBug had written back yet. She’d had a quote from Philip’s favorite philosopher as her profile statement and he was practically dying to meet her. He pondered for about the millionth time if there was any feasible way to check his phone without being noticed or seeming rude during a session.

      Nope.

      Auggie rambled on, still stuck on the question it felt like Philip had asked hours ago. “You know what? I think you’re really on to something there. You’re right, maybe I never expected her to take me seriously so I presented myself to be someone who didn’t expect to be taken seriously, therefore causing her to not take me seriously. Makes total sense. One of those self-perpetuating things, right? Like everything else, I guess. So strange to think about that stuff.”

      “Do you actually want Stevia to take you seriously? Are you in love with her?”

      Auggie retreated to his brain again. Philip respected clients who took their answers seriously, but sometimes the answers took so long in the making he felt like Auggie was just really stoned.

      “Do you smoke a lot of weed, Auggie?”

      “Well, sure. Who doesn’t?”

      “I don’t. Do you smoke before you come to sessions?”

      Auggie stared at him and broke into one of his big-gummed grins. “Well shit, Dr. Phil, I didn’t know you cared about that sort of thing. Of course I do. It opens me up. Makes me more, you know, receptive.”

      “You use pot every day?”

      “I kind of have to. It helps me, um, exist. If that makes sense.”

      “It does. A lot of vets use it to help with PTSD. I understand it can be a comforting lubricant for depressed or emotionally-wrought brains. But Auggie, if there’s one thing that marijuana also does, it makes you complacent. People stay content and stagnant in their situations.”

      Auggie ingested that. “Hmm. Never thought about that before, but I think maybe I can see your point.”

      “Do me a favor and try to not smoke before you hang out with Stevia. See how that changes things. See if you even want her to be taking you seriously. Examine how you feel with this juice girl—”

      “Griselda.”

      “Right, Griselda, see how you feel when you hang out with her as compared to how you feel with Stevia. What is the thing that juice girl –sorry, Griselda– possesses that makes you so excited? Is it anything other than the unknown? Because that tends to bewitch us time and time again, causing chaos and upheaval, only to later allow reality to kick us in the seat of our pants.”

      Auggie laughed. “Well, there’s an expression I haven’t heard since my grandpa was alive.”

      “And also, I’d appreciate it if you came here with a clear head next time. I’m interested in seeing the difference it makes.”

      “OK, Doc. I guess I can handle that homework.”

      “You’re damn right you can.”

      Auggie grinned. “You’re a funny guy, Doc.”

      Philip sighed. “I’m not, really.”

      Two breaks between clients later and Philip had confirmed his dream date for drinks. He was depleted after the long day of back-to-back clients so he went for his own therapy: A long bike ride. Philip would step into his spandex suit and hit the path hard. He found it soothing to melt away the burdens of the day with the rapid, continual circular motion of pedaling. It was freedom, ultimate, infinite freedom. He could swear endlessly at the amateur assholes who would swerve into him, or those who were on their phones, or biking side-by-side while talking to each other. There weren’t a lot of bikers that didn’t piss Philip off, and it felt great to talk shit to exactly all of them. The best part was nobody could know who he was or be able to even get a response in as he sped by, a blur of spandex lightning on spokes.

      Philip needed a few drinks during and after his shower to fully recover from all the active people-hating. It always surprised him how little empathy he was capable of feeling. He probably needed to work on his empathy skills, especially with women.

      Philip dressed smartly for his date. They were getting drinks at the Otherroom, where it was