A Passive Bull

"Life is a lot."

The words come out but sound foreign to my ear. I almost don't recognize my own voice and can't help fidgeting. Is this tweed? This armchair is weirdly both comfortable and uncomfortable. I'm pretty sure it's tweed. The way the fibers scratch against my bare back, how they tickle my fur and make it impossible to forget they're there. It reminds me of her. This little speck of lint in the palm of my hoof reminds me of her too. That time I picked her--"

"How're we doing over there, Donald?" Dr. Daniels asks, looking at me over tight oval glasses fogging up from her breath.

She's wearing this zebra print face mask that's circulating the hot air from her nostrils to her lenses as she breathes deep, and slow, and steady. I wonder if the zebra face mask is supposed to be a joke.

"Donald?"

"Good. I'm good."

"Good?"

"Sorry, that's not true. I'm not good."

"We're all not good sometimes. What are you feeling if not good? Try to describe it."

Her slight smile when she talks comes off like bored but wanting to look friendly. I can't tell how she wants me to answer, or if she even cares to hear one. "Have you ever had a panic attack?"

She nods.

"For me, a panic attack feels like drowning on dry ground. And right now I feel like I'm living in a panic attack. The earth is dying around us along with all kinds of different species. It seems like I'm going to a Zoom funeral every other week. But I'm still expected to sit in the standstill stampede that is traffic on the 405 Southbound at 8AM Monday through Friday, crammed into an "eco-friendly" vehicle with an electric battery that used up a town's worth of energy to create.

"I feel like every moment of my waking existence is spent in pursuit of my own survival while trying to mitigate the active part I play in causing our collective destruction. Wasn't the whole point of forming these so-called 'civilizations' to improve the overall quality of life for this planet and all who inhabit it? Or did I miss the part where we were still living in an every animal for themself, lion-eat-zebra world--no offense."

"None taken. Though the saying is dog-eat-dog, " she says. Her ear twitches with what I imagine is stifled annoyance as she adjusts the zebra mask that I'm convinced has to be some dark joke.

"Either way, it feels like everyone's at each other's throats, competing and fighting each other while a handful of companies that we've become reliant on continue to pillage the land for her finite resources and each of us for our time and labor. Yet, every time I want to do something about it, I find myself lacking the time to put any thought into it because I'm too busy trying to not die."

"So, what can I help you with?"

Seriously, what are these questions? She went to how many years of school to ask me these trifling questions?

"I wonder if she took out loans."

"Did who take out loans?"

Shit. Did I say that out loud?

"Nevermind. I'm not sure what you can me help with, all my friends just kept telling me I should go to therapy."

"Thoughtful friends."

"Yes, that. And also tired of listening to me. Is there something you can prescribe or...?"

"I don't have the authority to prescribe anything. But if you want to keep talking with me, we can set up some time however often you'd like to sit together. You can talk if you want or we can just hold this space with each other."

"For how long?"

"We can have sessions for as long as you like. Though each session is fifty minutes and $120."

"$120? Damn. Kind of steep."

"Well, we're all trying to survive, right?"