seeking shelter

Outside the flimsy door, drowsy elevator covers pollute a make-shift lobby [an alternative to insulated soundproofing]. Having only been told her name, I am satisfied by her look when she finally opens the door of the tiny office to invite me in. She is petite and appears to be seasoned by age. Her teeth are notably white against the creaminess of her chocolate skin, and her quiet chuckle in response to my defensive sarcasm puts me strangely at ease.

I don't know this woman, but I've been here before - office littered with travel-sized alarm clocks and motivational posters. I've been seated across from this inquisitive character and watched many a second hand devour the sixty minute confessional. I've been pinned to the wall with query's of emotions and intentions. I've poked fun at the alleged plight that motivates my pursuit of today's appointment [it seems more sensible that way]. I'm accustomed to this intro, yet it is still, like all the others, ever so slightly awkward.

Entering, I shed my scarf and liberate the buttons of my bell-shaped coat. These winter articles come to rest beside me on the miniature couch strategically positioned for "clients". Becoming settled in my place, I clutch the warmth of my coffee mug and rest it steadily on a crossed knee, then she smiles and poses the question of my purpose. Because I have one hundred possible answers spinning about my head, I momentarily pause to grasp the most conclusive one.

Why am I here?

Why am I here...?

Oh, them, that's right.

I tell her about the divorce papers...then the appeals for alliance, swiftly followed by a lingering lack of motivation, bouts of anxiety, my recent tendencies of sabotage, guilt, the crawling muscles in my back, more guilt, the past...I just fling open Pandora's box and before I know it, I think that I might drown even her. Her brow crinkles resulting in a halt of the barrage. She wants to know why it's all my fault as I have blamed myself for the result of every said scenario...

Each statement has been backed with unfailing certainty, and now I am suddenly only capable of a defeated stutter and a paradoxical shrug.

[I don't need a reason.]