“I put you in a short story.”
“Really?” Once in a while Gina brought treats to her shrink because they made her so visibly delighted.
“Sure. Hey, you’re almost as excited as you get about dreams. You called me suggestible.” Gina didn’t give her therapist time to answer because she wanted to distract her with the rest of the story, more to test out the plot than create a diversion from what it might mean to self-diagnose as clinically suggestible.
“It was about how this woman takes up astrology as a kitschy hobby because it seems like a good organizational scheme. She gets home from her lover’s house and reads her horoscope online without checking the date and it tells her she’s feeling creative so she writes a thousand words. Then she refreshes her email and there’s another horoscope there and it tells her it’s a good day to clean up her personal space so she scrubs out the bathroom and soaks her blinds. And then she refreshes it again, and this time checks the date because, after all she’s received a three in one day. The last one tells her she’s feeling impulsive so she gets her nipples pierced.” Gina’s therapist had been smiling since “soak her blinds” and Gina wondered if she had inadvertently made a sexual entendre.
“I decided to put in the whole cleaning thing because I did just do those things and it seemed a waste that no one would notice. But anyway, then she goes to therapy and tells her shrink about everything and her shrink tells her she sounds less impulsive and more suggestible.”
“Are you trying to convince yourself that your anxiety is waning?”
“Oh,” Gina paused, she liked her therapist because she was smart, especially in the last seven minutes of a fifty minute hour. And because she was still analytic enough to blame the revelatory grand finale on Gina, “I don’t know.”
“How’s your hand? Are you going to be alright this weekend?” She looked directly at Gina’s burned and bandaged hand which Gina had dramatically overwrapped for her session but was still blistered beyond dexterity two weeks after the accident.
“Sure, Jill’s staying with me,” she lied and immediately began hoping that it wouldn’t, somehow, become the truth…

<the rest is in my pocket with all the topless ordinaces you could ever dream about>

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