WWJD? = What Would Jung Do?

An appointment with a hypnotherapist = 1 hour of your life that you'll never get back.

Paying a professional to listen to you rant about your ex-boyfriend = $150 an hour.

Eating 1 pint of ice cream + watching Ryan Gosling in The Notebook = Priceless.

Ok, yes, I tried the therapist route--once. It came complete with soothing flute music, scented candles, an overstuffed recliner, and guided meditation. It was the eco-friendly version of a break-up exorcism. And I think I would've fared better if I would've stayed home and borrowed Linda Blair's cross.

Now, I'm not knocking the Twinkie defense psychobabble and the proliferation of "mood stabilizers" that are being dispensed like Prozac Pez from a neighborhood ice cream truck. I guess they have their place. And I only tried therapy-lite which doesn't require a prescription. But I'm just saying...it didn't work for me.

Consuming vast amounts of Smucker's Hot Fudge topping directly out of the jar, and then lying face down, crying into the carpet until I was completely feathered with Antron fuzz was more my style.

And who's to judge anyway? We do what works for us to come out the other side--happy and healthy, right?

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