Her Birthday Session

Sara: It's my birthday.

Doctor Fauser: Happy birthday! We're almost done with the session. I'm curious why you didn't mention this before?

S: Probably because I don't like thinking about what a shitty birthday this is.

DF: Yes? And why is that?

S: Well, let's see. The first thing I did when I woke up was cry. Birthdays totally suck, especially because it commemorates the day I was born.

DF: And why is that so bad.

S: Because I wish I was never born.

DF: What do you mean by that?

S: Don't worry. I don't want to kill myself. It's just . . . Life really sucks sometimes. And it's 6:00, and still no one has said happy birthday to me, besides you, but you're my analyst so that doesn't count.

DF: People didn't even say happy birthday on Facebook?

S: (Laughs)

DF: What's so funny?

S: I just don't picture you on Facebook. With pictures tagged of you drinking out of funnels. In one of your nice suits.

DF: Don't look for me on there. You will find no such pictures. I never drink like that with a good suit on.

S: (Laughs again)

DF: But surely someone said happy birthday on Facebook?

S: Yes, but that doesn't count. Nobody cares enough to go beyond that, and those people are hardly friends anyways. And, did you know that I told my friend that this is exactly how my birthday would go? That I'd wake up and cry and no one would give a shit that it's my birthday?

DF: That's what we call a self-fulfill . . .

S: (cutting him off) Self-fulfilling prophecy, I know.

DF: I'm impressed. Do you think you do that often?

S: What's that?

DF: Set the stage for your own disappointment and eventual sadness?

S: Maybe. Probably. What do you think?

DF: I think that's something we'll have to explore next week. Our time is up.

S: Okay. Thanks. See you again next week.

As Sara and Doctor Fauser stand up, she checks her phone.

DF: I'm willing to bet you missed some calls. Or texts?

S: Yeah. A few, actually.

DF: You see!

S: Yeah. See you next week.

Sara smiles, turns away and opens the door.

DF: Yes you will. Oh, and Sara?

S: Yes?

DF: I'm glad you were born.

The Woes of an AD/HD Author

This is an unfinished short story, inspired by this incident, that I'll probably never finish. I just didn't like where it was going, so I abandoned it. I thought this one, this one, and this one came out good, so I'll just go ahead and give you what I got. Enjoy!

It was New Year's Eve in Chicago again, and Gabriel was alone, again, just as he had been the previous three years. It's not that he didn't date; it's that he didn't like anyone. He had spent the evening with friends of friends rather than actual friends, and he thought he could get his mind to a happier place through dry martinis and pills that an acquaintance named Sophia, who dressed and acted like Stevie Nicks, kept popping out of her purse. It had worked for a number of hours, actually, but now he was at a point where the combination of pills and gin that was probably out of a plastic bottle created the perfect formula to make a man hate everything that moved; or maybe he would have been feeling that way completely naturally.

He decided to just go home to spin records alone, getting drunk off a bottle of Grey Goose that he had in his freezer, knowing that dropping that needle on the record, making that static noise, combined with his other favorite noise, the ice cubes clinking around the tumbler glass of Goose, were sure to make him feel comfortable. Not happy but comfortable. However, this level of comfort would not come easy, as getting a cab at this time of night in Chicago on New Year's Eve is next to impossible, and it was cold and windy as anything that night.

Just when he was ready to go back into the warm bar to knock down Irish car bombs until he didn't have to have conscious thoughts anymore, a cab approached, but just as he ducked in, someone darted in through the opposite door. It was a woman in her twenties with long red hair, big brown eyes, dressed in a stylish overcoat, and she was absolutely beautiful. But none of that mattered because this was his cab; not hers.

She just glared at him so he spoke first. "I hope to God you're going north or this is going to get really complicated," he said.

"I'm going south, as a matter of fact, but it's not at all complicated. This is my cab."

Outraged, Gabriel countered, "How do you figure? The cab pulled up on my side of the street! You can't run across the street and snake it like that. But listen, neither one of us is going to get another cab if one of us gives this one up, so I'll just ride south with you, even if you're a little evil, and then ride back solo. Where you going?"

"Pilsen."

"Oh, for the love of fuck!"