"Do you really hate your family?" asked Dr. Schroeder. Heās asked me this question before. Does he keep asking hoping to get a different answer?
"Of course not, but itās real tough to feel warm and fuzzy when they donāt make any beans about telling you that youāre a deviant."
He made a note in his yellow pad. I often wonder what he jots down in that pad - is he really taking notes or is he making his grocery list? If I stole it, would it look like OJās yellow pad???
So, this yearās holiday season has thus far sucked to a fair-thee-well. My girlfriendās dumped me, and she took my bed. I have the hetero roommate from hell, and my best friendās making my life crazy trying to get in bed with him. My family thinks I need psychiatric treatment because Iām a dyke, except for my father, who happens to need me because of a recent stroke. But I canāt help him because the rest of the women in his life, namely my mother and my sister, Ruth, have decided that, because Iām a deviant, am unworthy. They think I might kill him.
"So, tell me, Fran," asked Schroeder, readying his pencil. "How does that make you feel?"
All right, thatās it. I felt my anger rising and the blood rush out of my hands and into my face.
"Well, doc, it makes me feel like a real shit. It makes me feel like no oneās listening or paying attention to my needs. It makes me feel more like an ass and less than important. And you should know how that makes me feel, because for the last two and a half months youāve been asking that same damn question!!!!"
His eyes widened in surprise, his pencil-in-hand hovered in mid air. ćDo you know how I feel?ä I asked him, staring him down. He shook his head.
"I feel like I need to pee." I stood up and threw over my shoulder, "Happy holiday, Doc. Thanks for all your help."
I wondered if Greg was having a better day than I was....
