“Murder is not a love language.”

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Dear Diary,

So, my morning started weird as hell.

You know how some people walk in, and you can just tell they’ve got issues? Yeah. That happened. Except this time, the client was a literal hot guy. And for a solid ten minutes, he just... stared at me.

No “hi.” No “how are you?” Just pure, unblinking eye contact.

Now, I like to think I’m a professional, but internally, I was sweating.

Finally, I clear my throat and go, “Uh... can I help you?”

And this guy—this absolute legend—leans back and says, “I’m Seth.”

…Okay? And?

I’m trying to stay professional, but inside, I’m going Who the hell is Seth?

Instead, I say, “Cool, Seth. Great name. What brings you in today?”

Then he smirks (which is always a bad sign) and goes, “You really don’t know me, huh? I’m Seth. The Egyptian god of chaos, storms, the desert, violence, and foreigners.”

First of all—what?

I blink. “Oh. That Seth. My bad.”

Look, no offense to ancient Egypt, but let’s be real—nobody talks about their gods anymore. It’s always about “who did Zeus screw this time?” or the eternal trash fire that is the Olympian family tree.

But Seth? He’s not here to chat about history.

Nope.

He’s here because the girl he likes just filed a restraining order against him and told him to “seek professional help.”

I nearly choked on my coffee.

Dude, what did you do?!

Turns out, this man-god has been living out a dark romance novel in real life. Like, he stalked her. Followed her everywhere. Oh, and casually murdered her exes. Like it was nothing.

Dude. WTF.

I stare at him. “Seth.”

“Yes?”

“You do realize that’s not how you win a girl’s heart, right? Stalking = bad. Murder = very bad.”

He just looks at me, genuinely confused. Like this is somehow news to him.

“Well,” he says, “in my time, it was a sign of devotion.”

Oh. No. Honey. No.

I take a deep breath. “Seth, times have changed. Now, if you stalk and kill people, you end up on ‘Criminal Minds’ or a true-crime podcast. Girls these days want communication, not annihilation.”

He frowns. “So... grand romantic gestures no longer involve destroying your rival in combat?”

“NO.”

Then he goes on a whole rant about how things were so much simpler back in ancient Egypt.

“I used to be feared, respected! But now? I’m just a myth! No one even sacrifices to me anymore. I get fan art.”

Honestly? I felt bad for the guy. That’s rough, buddy.

I sigh and lean forward. “Look, Seth. I get it. Being a forgotten god is a tough gig. But murdering the girl’s exes? Not the way to her heart, my dude. Maybe—I don’t know—take her out for coffee instead of burying her enemies in sand dunes?”

He huffs. “I suppose I could try speaking to her first.”

“YES. GREAT START.”

“And if she still refuses me—?”

I hold up a hand. “Seth.”

“Yes?”

“If you even think about murder, I swear to every god out there, I will personally smite you with a therapy couch.”

He looks vaguely impressed. “You mortals are feisty these days.”

Damn right, we are.

Notes to Self:

Google ‘restraining orders for gods.’ Is that a thing? Who do I even call for that? The Vatican?

Maybe suggest a new hobby for Seth that doesn’t involve chaos and violence. Knitting, perhaps?

Consider pitching a reality show called “Gods Gone Wild.” Seriously. These deities need therapy.

So yeah. That was my morning.

Just another day in the life of a therapist for mythological weirdos.

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Session Notes – Patient File #002

Client: Seth, Egyptian god of chaos, storms, and questionable romance tactics.

Issue: Stalking. Murder. General god-complex. He thinks his ancient methods of courtship still work in 2024.

Plan:

✔ Step 1: Explain why stalking ≠ romance.

✔ Step 2: Teach him modern dating etiquette. Maybe suggest an app??

✔ Step 3: Stop him from committing literal war crimes.

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Diary,

I swear, if one more ancient deity walks into my office with commitment issues, I’m raising my rates.

Let’s see what tomorrow brings…