Avery Loves Psychobabble

I left Dr. Drexel Carrington’s office on cloud nine. My secret crush on him aside, the previous 45 minutes left me feel reinvigorated. Under the good doctor’s guidance, I was going to “breakthrough” this “mental crisis” and “reaffirm” my “self-worth”. I love psychobabble.

The sun shone brightly as I sauntered down Michigan Avenue. Everyone seemed to be smiling. Today was going to be a good day. First, I’d head home and take a luxurious bubble bath. Next, I’d treat myself to lunch at Pelago, followed by a drink at the Signature Lounge. Touristy, I know. But I can think of no better place to make a person feel as though he were on top of the world. The afternoon would conclude with a little retail therapy at Ralph. Mr. Lauren always makes me happy.

This renewed energy must have been written across my face. The moment I entered my building Simms, the daytime doorman, returned my smiled.

“You’re in excellent spirits, Avery. Didya win the lottery or something?”

“Nope.” I replied. “Jack’s moving out.”

I didn’t stop walking until I reached the elevator. I can only imagine the puzzled look on Simms’ ruggedly handsome, middle-aged face.

Once I’d reached the 14^th floor, I headed toward my front door intent on making lemonade out of lemons, sangria out of sour grapes, apple martinis out of rotten—well, you get the idea. There was a lot that still needed to be determined. When would Jack be moving out? What would we do about separating our finances? How were we going to get out of this real estate contract?

I shook those thoughts out of my head. Those thoughts were for later. This day of self-pampering would help me prepare for that discussion. This day would help me find that calm and collected space. Later, when Jack returned, I would be ready to broach these topics in a rational and civilized manner.

That was the plan. My smile, however, faded as I entered my apartment. Jack was back.