Office Visit One:
Riddled with anxiety, I still notice the fantastic outfit I've managed to put together without any help from my friends Samantha, Charlotte and Miranda. Just look at me! One moment I'm hunched in agony over that nervous feeling in my stomach, the next I'm resplendent in a sky-blue tailored blouse and lemon-blue striped taffeta skirt. My palms feel moist and my heart is leaping from my breast. No matter. I complete the look with a chunky necklace and burnt orange sandals.
Office Visit Two:
Our second meeting in just two weeks! Today I've pulled on some trouser jeans and a white tee along with silver sandals and a chunky poppy -colored leather bag with just enough pockets for all my meds. In fact, I look just spectacular enough to turn a few heads on the street on my oft-trodden path, especially one knight on his shining bicycle who seems to--how flattering! --want to know everything about me. Nothing is safe from his inquisitiveness and I find myself sifting through a barrage of questions. My name. My telephone number. Where I live. I play along with fake answers and even give him Samantha's telephone number until that one crucial question, my answer to which I know will test his loyalty to me on the subject forever. Where am I going? he asks in his innocence. The psychiatrist, I answer. Then with a quickly-hurled farewell, he's off like a cowboy into the sunset, except without the the girl. Geesh! I notice. In his ardor to find another maiden, he almost gets clipped by a car.
Office Visit Three:
You can tell me that my current outfit--slouchy jeans, cashmere hoody, sequined flip flops--is something akin to comfort food with a dash of hot sauce. You can tell me that this is the greatest and best outfit to wear for hours and hours of neu-ro-psy-cho-log-i-cal testing which, for the record, isn't the same kind of testing they do if you show up at the appointment in a red ball gown and curly blue wig. But still. However, you cannot convince me that I will have enough time afterward to go shopping for new ballet flats and a silk tank before I have to meet my good friends Samantha, Charlotte and Miranda for a drink. Er, for a Roy Rogers of course. My brain aches from so much thinking.