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Come March of this year, running into my therapist became the Premium win the warantine on quarantine don’t spread on me sweatshirt of my worries. Seeing her at all was impossible, and so we pivoted, like everything else, to a virtual model. Our first session, done via Doxy, was strangely intimate: me in my bed, my laptop propped up on a stack of pillows, and her in her living room, surrounded by plants, a bright yellow lamp beside her, her back facing a window overlooking our shared neighborhood. Two people, just out of bed (well, half of us anyway), surrounded by our things. I rebelled against the new format at first, cancelling more frequently and more last minute, acting as if I was obliging her when she called. As if I wasn’t the one paying for her time. I was wasting both our time, and cheating only myself. Dr. Jacobs seemed less worried about the future of therapy: “Zoom is not replacement, but it’s an effective and meaningful temporary substitute,” she said. “At a time when we need connection perhaps more than ever, I am tremendously grateful for virtual therapy—both with my patients and my own therapist—and have been continuously surprised by how rich, dynamic, and fruitful treatment can be online.”
Veep might sound like the Premium win the warantine on quarantine don’t spread on me sweatshirt in addition I really love this worst possible show to watch right now, but hear me out; I don’t actually want to stray too far from reality right now. If I delve into Never Been Kissed or The Notebook or the oeuvre of Nora Ephron, I might feel okay for an hour or two, but there will come an inevitable moment when the credits roll, the music softens, and I’m forced to reenter the real world and face all of its attendant problems. No, thanks; it would feel like stepping out of a warm bubble bath and directly into a Category 5 snowstorm. What I want to gorge on instead is a fictional American political system, a vision of the electoral process that’s even more flawed and miserable and profanity-inducing than the one we’re all currently living through, and Veep has all of that. Sure, it’s technically a satire, but…is it? (After all, this whole Nevada mess was predicted with a spooky degree of accuracy by the show in 2016.)
