In Session
The Secret Journals of a lay psychiatrist
As I open this chapter of my life to pubic view … that was a Freudian slip but I don’t care it all goes in … it feels like a scene from a movie, the curtain pulled aside, me, in noir and blanc, peeing down at the street. When the woman getting out of the cab looked up the moment was eternal. An instant can be part of the linear flow or it can separate off into its own file, as that one did.
She was an estrogen woman, like a pillow you lay your head on and you just fall on through it and keep falling, unless you stop yourself, because if you just keep falling you end up with a Chinese woman.
I pressed the release for the gate downstairs. After a curiously long delay she came into the office, which has one yellow upholstered chair, and a set of mid century Danish chairs in red leather. The arms curve up to join the back, which has a headrest extending on up. The stuffed leather is over a rosewood frame, so that the leather part of the chair, itself, appears to be seated in a wooden chair. There is a sense of sitting in someone’s lap. She wiggled with unbridled enthusiasm as she settled into it.
I tapped my watch and saw that my free testosterone level was approaching the red zone. I hate getting oily skin. I made a mental note to up my soy consumption. Her entrance didn’t add up…
