Last night my boyfriend told me that his therapist had been at the Santa Monica Pier the same night we were. Um...that's weird. I can only imagine running into her. Her walking up to us with a glass of wine in hand, "Oh, I've heard all about you! How's the writing going? You know, you've really projecting a lot of your own issues with your father onto my client...so, I'm glad to hear that you're getting help. Hey, good luck with that acting class!"

Maybe she wouldn't say that...maybe she'd be a professional and everything, but you can't tell me that she wouldn't THINK it (especially after that wine...).

I really like my boyfriend. And I'm glad he goes to therapy. I'm just not crazy about having our arguements dissected by someone who frequents the same social gatherings and doesn't know me from a stranger on the street.

Just for today, I can feel weird.