March 03, 2013|
I was on time to my first appointment with my psychiatrist. She was attractive, about ten years older than me.
I took busses for some reason after. There were always people on them. An unfamiliar city. I wandered. I tried to find the place again. I don't know why. Maybe I thought our second appointment was there, too. But it wasn't. At McDonald's they gave me huge chunks of greasy breaded fish. They looked like giant chicken McNuggets. I put them in a bag in my bag, with some sort of absorbing sheet to try to absorb the greases, but there was so much.
I had to make it to my appointment. I drove down a narrow two way bisected by a cement island and eventually found it. 324 in San Mateo, near where Tower Records was in the nineties. I had to turn around to make it. I tried pulling out of where I was parked but everything was so narrow. Cars would get behind me while I was trying to get out. And then I was trying to turn around and failing down the road. And then I thought it was integral for me to find a part in the book with a picture of her. But all the numbers were out of order. Had to be page 400 something, or 300 something, but all the numbers were out of order. When it looked like I would find it, the numbers would leap up and I'd be lost. I walked back to the appointment instead of driving and I don't know why. I came in and met with her for our thirty minute appointmnent. After meandering for a bit, I looked at the clock which had one minute left until appointment's end. She wanted to get pizza. I overeat. I wondered if she was willing to compromise her patient's well-being if she'd have sex with me.