The Questionable Conclusion IV

"[The Poetry Professor] asked me today if I had been writing. I didn't want to tell him it was all about my ex," I tell the imaginary female therapist.

She tilts her head to the side. "Who's [The Poetry Professor]?"

"Just this handsome English professor I had. Boyish charm. He has this classic bipolar II personality. Up all the time." I put my hands on my lips. "His girlfriend is probably younger than me by a few years. Very thin, and very blonde." She had that I stole an English professor look about her. "I have a bad record with trying to seduce English professors."

"What do you mean?"

"We'll skip that story. Or stories, as it happens to be."

"Do you idolize women who are 'very thin and very blonde,' as you put it?"

"Of course because they represent my mother, and all the qualities I don't have, although not completely unattainable. I can buy blonde by the bottle, and theoretically I could wear a size four again, but it would require sacrifices. However, I'll never be my mother."

"Did you try to seduce [The Poetry Professor]?"

"No, don't mix up the English professors, okay? They were a lot of them. I never slept with any of them, much less while they were my teachers. [The Poetry Professor] is handsome, but he's not my type. First of all, he's single." I laugh a little at this, not without bitterness. "Funny, right?"

"Why didn't you call this Lindsay back?" The imaginary female therapist says, changing the subject.

"I was afraid I was actually right, and that she was his girlfriend, and I really, really didn't want to have some awkward conversation with her. Of course, I'm totally twisting this whole scenario into another woman being jealous of me, which is great really. It's happened in the past, of course, but not recently. I can make anything be about me. I had one woman call me, threaten to kill me because her husband sent me a dick pic, which I never solicited. I never touched the man. Who fucking knows, right? People are fucking crazy. I'm crazy, but at least I know it, and I try to keep it inside."

"Are you hoping [Morpheus] will contact you? Do you find yourself checking your phone all the time?"

"My phone is on vibrate. Most of the time, I ignore it. It's in my bag, put away, during the day. I have no idea if I want to talk to [Morpheus]. If he called, and he was genuine, and he apologized, and said he loved me, and on and on, maybe I would forgive him, but I'm not sure we would accomplish anything. [Morpheus] has always be ashamed of me. I don't know why. Was it my job? Was it the way I dressed? Was it my family? How did I just not measure up in his eyes? Well, I doubt that will ever change. I doubt I will ever be good enough for him. I don't know what it is that I lack. Why he doesn't take me seriously. I would like to say that someday he'll regret that decision, but everyone says that about at least one of their ex's, so that's pretty typical. I don't regret breaking up with any of my ex's, so why should he?"

"Maybe this is more about how you feel about yourself, rather than how [Morpheus] feels about you, or how you think he feels about you."

"I don't know. If I could drag him into therapy, I would. I would have his brain picked by a hundred psychologists...A real monster can tap into a victim's own insecurities and hurts and vulnerabilities and use them against her."

"Do you think he's a monster?"

"Well, I don't think he's a saint. Last time we were together, I told him I thought he might be a psychopath. He didn't really seem to understand what that meant."