Heart: I have a question.
Head: What now? Another basic math equation?
Heart: Nah. I was just wondering… should we forget about this whole therapy thing for a while and go back to school to get our MFA in creative nonfiction?
Head: Seriously? This again? I don’t get why you keep nagging me about this. I thought you loved being a therapist.
Heart: I do! When I feel like I’ve made progress with a client I have a warm feeling inside for about an hour. It’s lovely. But when I think about being a writer… I shake and cry and pound so fast that we can’t sleep at night. Don’t you think that means something?
Head: Maybe your arteries are just blocked from that week when Doug ordered pizza three nights in a row.
Heart: Very funny. Not.
Head: Look. Do you really think it’s a good idea to take out more loans to get a second Masters degree that won’t qualify us to do anything? What would our dad say?
Heart: Who cares? It sounds like fun and life is short. I think I read somewhere that all loans get forgiven after twenty-five years anyway.
Head: Are you sure you aren’t just looking for an easy way to make friends and an escape from the real world because you find it scary?
Heart: Geez, you really cut to the core. No wonder we’re a therapist.
Head: Look, our plan was to spend the next several years doing the therapy thing. We can’t change our plan. Trust me. I’m the brains behind this whole operation.
Heart: But that was before our plan involved moving to Iowa City. Shouldn’t Iowa City be the exception? All the great writers either taught or studied here. Flannery O’Connor, Robert Frost, Philip Roth, Kurt Vonnegut, John Updike…
Head: You barely know who John Updike is. Get off of Wikipedia.
Heart: Quit snooping around in my web history.
Head: Let’s just go finish our progress notes and prepare for tomorrow’s sessions. It’s the end of the month. Our billing is due.
Heart: But don’t you think it’s just a little weird that we happened to end up living in the city of the university that has the most prestigious creative writing program in the world?
Head: Sure, it’s a strange coincidence.
Heart: It’s fate!
Head: Look, we’ve come too far with therapy not to see this through. We need to focus on our job. We need to keep working toward our license.
Heart: Actually, I’d be thrilled to never have to deal with that licensing board again. They can take our license and shove it up–
Head: Hey, watch your language. You don’t mean that.
Heart: Ugh, fine. We’ll keep earning our license for now. But maybe next year? Or the year after?
Head: Um… don’t you remember at the interview when we agreed to stay at our job for three and a half years? We can’t go back on our word.
Heart: Everyone says things they don’t mean at interviews. And that was just a verbal agreement. That shit’s not legally binding.
Head: Okay, so let’s say we quit our job, went back to school… again… then what? What the hell would we do after we graduated?
Heart: Take out more loans and spend some time focusing on our art?
Head: Oh man. You would be sooooo lost without me.
Heart: No, you’re stupid and I don’t need you!
Head: Uhhh… Have you forgotten what happened last time you made all the decisions on your own? Back when we were a teenager and I fell asleep for about ten years? Do you remember the guys we ended up dating? Ummm, yeah. You need me.
Heart: Oh shut up. You’re so full of air.
Head: I refuse to talk with you when you’re like this. We’ll disuss this again tomorrow. Or later tonight if we can’t sleep.