Telling you horrible things is amazingly cathartic

(This is part three in an unexpected series of totally inappropriate disclosures.)

I’m supposed to be writing about selling my house and shopping for an RV in anticipation of my drive to the Arctic Ocean. Instead, I have started spontaneously telling you all of these terrible things about

Now, I promise to get back to RV topics, but did want to address this strange new behavior.

It is really bizarre to me, actually.

It kind of seems like classical psychoanalysis, where you lay on the couch, unable to see the analyst, who just sits there quietly (or making encouraging comments) while you prattle on about all of your terrible-ness.

After yapping all of your vileness into the silence you start having transference, which is where you start to feel this really deep affection for the analyst. (I’ve read that somewhere… or my friend told me about it.)

It seems kind of like that.

Anyway, for those of you having bad flashbacks to some 70s encounter group, I promise to get this back on track…

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