You and your wife are sitting in your therapist’s waiting room. You look at the door, paranoid that someone you know will come in and you’ll attempt to cover up your embarrassment with small talk—small talk in a small town—your voice quavering in that high-pitched lilt that broadcasts your self-consciousness, with your oblique attempts at humor that only you chuckle at. And not talk about why you’re here, though you’ll know that he’ll know why you’re each here, and you will both wonder what, precisely, is the other’s why. And then you will have … Continue reading We All Have Our Problems E. H. Jacobs →