About this morning? Clips of time. Clippings. Yesterday’s meet with a PCP/Psychoanalyst caught me all the way off guard. I left feeling mentally orgasmed. I went in feeling guilty, like a junkie asking for a buzzfix. That is how the previous PCP made me feel any time I stepped into his boutique-esque office. He did not believe anxiety existed. He was anti-mask. He espoused Eastern rememdies which spurred quacking noises in my head. I don’t even know why I stayed connected to this guy. He is possibly the last tangible connection I have to the ex-gf. That doctor was her family’s doctor. That was no reason to stay or not stay connected to him, it just happened to be the case. 

Irony of ironies, as I walked toward the new PCP’s office yesterday the previous PCP and I just happened to cross paths. He was walking out of a covered parking garage. Outside of his kingdom, outside of his domain he looked like any other prick. A toothpick. Within his office he carries himself with some modicum of authority. Or maybe that’s just my attitude about medical professionals. That they are in command. Wait, no. That is not my attitude about medical professionals. I have no opinions one way or the other, really, at least I don’t think I do. It was just that guy. 

Long story short I went in to the new PCP feeling timi and nervous. Asking for 4x the dosage of an anxiety med seemed sensible to me, outrageous to the previous PCP. The new PCP wrote me up all that anxiety meds and a bunch of other pharms, in the end asking “What else do you want?”

We went everywhere in that hour, from my messed up mother to exactly how I most enjoy fucking a woman to high school memories to pianism to everything. It was awesome. I gotta go now.