Benny Tumbleweed
05-16-2009, 02:36 PM
Don't you just hate therapists? It's all bollocks, isn't it.
OK. Yes, I do have one. She comes at the most inappropriate times. Take today, for example. She knocked, and walked straight in! I was in the kitchen, hammering nails into my hand.
She paused in the doorway.
"Oh," she said. "Is this a convenient time to..."
I looked up. "Oh, hello Anthea. Please, come in. I didn't hear you knock."
She sat down, crossed her legs, frowned. "How have you been, Benny?"
I began pulling the nails out. I placed them, carefully, by the side of my hand, each nail bright red and blood caked.
"Oh, you know."
"Yeah." She tried to smile. "That looks painful."
"It's all right."
She steepled her hands, pushed them under her chin.
"Listen. Do you remember our last little chat? About your uncle?"
"Yes," I said, softly.
"Remember we agreed that he was dead?"
"Yes," I said.
"Good, good." She talked some more about how we were progressing, how things were moving forward. She spoke about how my coping strategies were doing, how I was feeling.
I nodded and smiled in all the right places.
She stared at me.
"I'm glad you're feeling better, Benny. Listen, I have to go. This is just a passing visit. I have another appointment. I'll see you in a week, yes?"
"Yes," I said.
She stood. I followed her out into the hall.
She stopped, turned to the door to her left. Turned the handle. "Is this the loo?"
"NO!" I cried, panicked.
"Oh." Her hand dropped to her side. "It's OK. I can wait till I'm back at the office."
She let herself out. I lingered in the hall. When she'd gone, I opened the cupboard door.
Three old women hung silent in the darkness, swinging, eyes glazed, staring, staring.
i pressed a hand to my mouth, began to laugh, tears gusing down my face, my body shaking, trembling, my laughter growing louder and louder and louder, snot squirting out of my mouth and nose.
I closed the door and went to bed.
OK. Yes, I do have one. She comes at the most inappropriate times. Take today, for example. She knocked, and walked straight in! I was in the kitchen, hammering nails into my hand.
She paused in the doorway.
"Oh," she said. "Is this a convenient time to..."
I looked up. "Oh, hello Anthea. Please, come in. I didn't hear you knock."
She sat down, crossed her legs, frowned. "How have you been, Benny?"
I began pulling the nails out. I placed them, carefully, by the side of my hand, each nail bright red and blood caked.
"Oh, you know."
"Yeah." She tried to smile. "That looks painful."
"It's all right."
She steepled her hands, pushed them under her chin.
"Listen. Do you remember our last little chat? About your uncle?"
"Yes," I said, softly.
"Remember we agreed that he was dead?"
"Yes," I said.
"Good, good." She talked some more about how we were progressing, how things were moving forward. She spoke about how my coping strategies were doing, how I was feeling.
I nodded and smiled in all the right places.
She stared at me.
"I'm glad you're feeling better, Benny. Listen, I have to go. This is just a passing visit. I have another appointment. I'll see you in a week, yes?"
"Yes," I said.
She stood. I followed her out into the hall.
She stopped, turned to the door to her left. Turned the handle. "Is this the loo?"
"NO!" I cried, panicked.
"Oh." Her hand dropped to her side. "It's OK. I can wait till I'm back at the office."
She let herself out. I lingered in the hall. When she'd gone, I opened the cupboard door.
Three old women hung silent in the darkness, swinging, eyes glazed, staring, staring.
i pressed a hand to my mouth, began to laugh, tears gusing down my face, my body shaking, trembling, my laughter growing louder and louder and louder, snot squirting out of my mouth and nose.
I closed the door and went to bed.