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2003-09-26 @ 3:42 p.m.
the subject was....

I had a personal best today. The most times the word "penis" was ever uttered during a therapy session. I know, you're all proud of me.

Of course, we'll have to break it down. There was just the word, "Penis" and then the word "Penis" with the word "weapon" attached to it, and then the word "Penis" with the word "companion" attached to it. "Companion Penis". Sounds kinda friendly, huh? My shrink made that one up. He's trying to make it sound friendly. Ya know, like User Friendly.

But I had a traumatic childhood. And the "P" word had a lot to do with it. It definitely fell under the weapon category in those days. And it's kind of hard to convince someone who put their hand on a hot stove once, so to speak, to do it again.

But unfortunately while slinging around the "P" word, he also decided to throw in the dreaded "D" word. You know...Dildo. If my outsides were calm and collected before that, my insides definitely flinched like a freakin' bazooka was fired 3 inches from my head, when he said that. It just seems dirty. I hate the word. I mean I realize we're working on hard stuff (if you'll excuse the pun), but can we just leave that word out?

I felt far worse when I left then when I went today and that's unusual. Friday's shrink is usually the "life will get better" shrink. I barely even said good-bye to him today. And the day only got worse.

I went out to walk my 3 miles on the nearby lake. Stopped in at the public restroom at the marina. Its only 2 stalls big.

I have nervous little kidneys and have trouble going to the bathroom in public. So I go in, and there is someone in the next stall. OK, I can do this. But then I start hearing these noises. Sighs. Moans. Girl noises. I look down. Only 2 feet. OK. Doesn't appear to be a couple having sex. But then the noises kept getting louder and more persistent. Louder cries. Louder sighs. And in equal measure, my sphincter muscles kept getting tighter and tighter in direct corellation with the volume. At the rate I was going, or in this case, not going, I wouldn't be able to pee until Arafat and Sharon shook on peace in the Middle East.

So it was just that kind of a day. I did take my 3 mile walk and eventually ended up at that same bathroom about an hour later. Happily, the woman (I assume) who had been doing the 2 finger rumba had departed (or gotten a room) and I was able to use the facilities.

Just as I was writing this entry I heard my doorbell ring. I went to the door and opened it and there was a large Italian man standing there painting my door frame. He had accidentally leaned on the doorbell. I gasped when I saw him so closely and so abruptly. Plus my landlord, you know...the Godfather, had a lawnchair set up in my front yard watching him. Is that weird or what?

So I really need another shrink appointment. Preferably one where all we talk about is how wonderful life is. And not about penises or dildos or weapons of mass destruction. Because that is how this whole mess started.

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