Just had a greasy bowl of Penne pasta, Pesto sauce and chicken. Quite good, but winds up sitting in your stomach as a ball of greasy dough. Not very appealing but should stave off the hypoglycemic demons. Also taking the opportunity to write right now because I probably won’t feel like writing much after tonights counseling session with your favorite shrink and mine, Mr. Philip Beansprout.
Yes, the same Philip Beansprout who said that when I get upset I turn to whatzits. That’s funny because I’ve been quite upset lately and haven’t really gotten laid at all. Oh but he has that special magic paper that enables him to know it all, so I must be wrong. And Bill played accompaniment to Phil’s statement, and Bill would know too how often I turn to whatzits when I’m upset.
So far my own principle of not mentioning whatzits again to Bill has held up nicely. I haven’t said a word. The reason for that is, because it seems like nagging to Bill and his advisors, i.e. Roberta and who knows who else. Their advice? If he keeps it up, dump him. Brilliant and understanding. Written later: I later found out that it wasn’t primarily about the whozits but more referring to that fact that I keep bringing up the bad shit from 6 months ago.
There is an underlying question to myself, and that is, will I publish this? Doubtful. Or merely make it private so no one can read it? Private! Private! I did that last week, my pen full of venom, published for a few minutes and then withdrawn after Juan concurred saying that it was a bit standoffish. So it was withdrawn and replaced with something innocuous. I’d be so great under pressure!
It really sucks to be in love with someone and not actually able to say what is on your mind. Awww.
Oddly enough, we both share the problem.
The way I’m feeling is that the whole counseling thing seems to be exasperating for ol’ Phil. It is for me too, and Bill could have Monday nights off so he can go do his thing, be it going to seances, or auditions. Has it run it course? Who knows? The insurance is bound to run out in a few more weeks anyhow so maybe the natural death will be the way to go for counseling. Drama! Tune in tomorrow for another chapter of “How John Ozed? How?”
It was a noble attempt if you ask me. Ah, the falling on the sword.I am feeling a heady mixture of antagonism and ambivalence. And not operating heavy machinery I might add. I don’t intend to be standoffish, quite the contrary, I intend to really not say much of anything. Umm, isn’t that standoffish? Of course I could be provoked into saying something. I’m not going to sit there, mute. What are the odds? Got to get my money’s worth. KaChing!
3 more hours to the gallows. Oooh…drama! There isn’t really anyway to say how the session will go. Could be good, could be bad, it’s just after last weeks session I have become pessimistic (moi?) about the whole schmear. And money is getting tight, at least for me it is. I want results! PRONTO!
Did wake up wrapped in Bills arms this morning. That hadn’t happened in what seemed like a while and I had almost forgotten how nice it felt. Awww.
Now it is later. The session was the usual see sawing topsy turvy banana sinclair. (?)
Ol’ Phil must get quite exasperated. There’s a lot of contradictions in most things that we say and it’s a wonder Phil doesn’t throw his hands in the air and kicking us out of his office.
Talked about a lot and ran out of time just as we were getting somewhere. Ain’t that always the case? Aren’t we a pair? You here at last on the ground, me in midair? Where are those laffy daffy clowns?
Anyway, we’ve been talking for hours and we think adopting a baby is the way to go.
Yeah, right.
No, really