Wake Me Up When September Comes

Therapy.

I don't know what Shonda Rhimes is planning for next season, but I hope it involves casting of a therapist.

Seriously.

My apologies to those of you who are not watching Grey's Anatomy (I won't ask about life under the rock) because this post is solely a rant about how a therapist needs to be added to the show in order for it to maintain any remote sense of (dare I say) "reality."

Ok . . . it's a television show. I know, I know. I watched people flat out ignore a homeless man today. I walked to Fido instead of driving my car and crossed the street with the Crossing Guard Gustapo. I attended a planning meeting for a Darfur rally/protest. I listened to some of Bush's immigration proposals. I have plenty of other interesting and some worthwhile topics to discuss.

I may even discuss them one of these days when I have time to really return to the blog world.

Until then, I'm focused:

on a McVet making plans;
an ObGyn whose husband doesn't love her;
a McDreamy and the intern who haven't cheated . . . until now;
a surgeon who may have a paralyzed hand;
a former model intern who nearly killed her boyfriend who then became her fiance during the near-murder but then got a new heart and then really did die;
a woman who gets high off of bloody hearts and queazy off of emotions;
an alcoholic medical chief who discovers his niece is dying during the same day he realizes his wife always knew about his extra-marital affair

Drama! So I'll have to wait until September to find out what happens for all of these imaginary docs. But I have one word for Grey's Anatomy creator Shonda:

Therapy.

It's necessary.

Or at least turn one of them into a religious fanatic who prays constantly for this crew.

:)