2004-03-17 - 11:33 a.m.

It's that time again. Time to see my shrink. Time to get myself tangled up in that bead curtain, trip over her lazy, fat cats, sneeze at the smell of patchouli oil, bang my shins on those antique end tables that always seem to pop up where no human would expect them to be, and to let her strap me into the horrendous machine. It wouldn't be so bad if I didn't lose so much blood when she attaches the probes to my skull and spine. I don't really understand why she has to do this, but I find it so hard to resist. Those aromatherapy candles just seem to strip away my will to resist.

Then comes the bright light she shines in my eye so I can't see her or anything in the room. Sometimes there is some shuffling in the background, like some person or persons have come into the room. I used to ask "Is there anyone else here, Doctor?" but she usually answers this with another question "Do you often think people are organizing against you? When did you first start to feel this way?"

Then she usually starts by asking me seemingly idle questions such as "How have you been this week?" and then things get fuzzy.

Often I wake up at home feeling weak and sore, unsure of how I got home. I try not to look at my arms anymore, the sight of the track marks and the sores is starting to disgust me. I never knew that my veins could hurt before I started seeing this shrink. Funny thing is, I can't remember when I started seeing her or even why I did. I'll have to try and remember to ask her tonight and I just hope that she doesn't douse me with freezing water. She sometimes does that when I ask questions that are "irrelevant to the therapy".

Shrinks are so annoying. If anyone knows a good psychiatrist, let me know.

Reading A Tale of Two Cities (still)
Wishing I had heat vision so I could melt the snow on the sidewalks no one seems willing to shovel
Plotting to track down those who used to torment me as a child and familiarize them with the adage that revenge is a dish best served col

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