Therapy and item number 8860

Days like today, when I'm sitting at work and completely uninterested in doing any aspect of my job, I find myself loading the same web pages over and over again, looking for news of Jake that doesn't consist solely of rehashings of paraphrasings of sightings posted only so that the author can get those keywords into the stream again for the day. I couldn't begin to tell you what I'm expecting to find, but it beats the hell out of updating attendance records and scheduling interviews. I did feel a perverse glee when I confirmed that Lions for Lambs currently has a 26% rating at Rotten Tomatoes, which makes Rendition's 45% seem positively glowing by comparison.

One of the things that happens when you pass out in the shower and then tearfully confess to your family that you have been severely depressed for a while is that the ER doctor tells you to see a therapist. This is different from seeing the psychiatrist who has been prescribing your antidepressants for about seventeen years, because the pill doctor's job is to fix your brain chemistry. The therapist's job is to make you think about stuff. I think about stuff too much already, so I was never helped by or interested in therapy. But considering how badly the latest depression scared me, it seemed like a good idea to comply, so I went yesterday.

When the doctor asked me what type of man I'm interested in, I laughed and plucked my Jake in '08 t-shirt away from my chest. "This guy, right here," I told him. He was amused and not overly concerned. He also didn't recognize Jake, which really didn't bother me, as he may not get out to the movies much. But when we talked about my complete lack of romantic interaction, he pointed at Jake on my chest and asked, "If he came up to you tomorrow and asked you out, would you accept?"

And the question was so apt, I gave the most honest answer I could: I don't know.

Because my problem is, and always has been, my perception of myself. If Jake Gyllenhaal wanted to be with me, could I let myself trust his judgment that I was, in fact, worthy of him? I wish I could just shout an emphatic yes, yes, YES! in reply, but I'm not there yet. It's something I have to continue to work on. The FedEx delivery guy that came in the office this morning seemed a little weak in the knees; he looked like I feel when I stumble upon someone who really attracts me. He wasn't bad, either. But who knows. Maybe he just ate a tainted Egg McMuffin this morning.

Of course, being approached by Jake for a date is quite a different issue from winning one in a charity auction, but it did make me wonder what it is I think I'd say to the man if given that chance. His ACLU of Southern California price is currently holding at $5,000. I don't blame Jake that the opening bid was far too high, because for all I know it was based on the results of last year's auction, and in either case I'm sure Jake had fuckall to do with setting the number. For that price, Jake ought to be cooking and serving the lunch.

I wonder if he's even seen the auction's headline. It appears to have been written by someone who scanned the fan sites and forums for ideas. Or, hell, maybe Jake's incredible appeal is just that universal and simple. Do other male celebrities get called beautiful by random observers? I mean, it's my word of choice for Jake, too, but I'm rather biased. Anyway, what would we talk about? He's already answered my cilantro question. Honestly, I love Donnie Darko, but I don't need Jake to explain it to me. Maybe I could explain it to him. Oh, and I could ask him what the story is with all those sneakers. But then he'd know just how creepily interested in his life I really am.

Auction photo thumbnailed from Charity Folks. Other photos found in assorted places on the web.