Shes here, ya know, I said as matter-of-factly as I could. Sitting right there on the back of the sofa, legs crossed, brushing her pants off, cleaning her nails, waving, smiling -right there, I pointed without looking as I spoke.

As was her mode of operation, Dr. Repp said nothing, just wrote frantically on a big yellow legal pad, either taking notes about what I said or writing down the numbers of the local looney bins she could call to take me away (HA HA HO HO HEE HEE . . . . )

No the good doctor rarely dispensed advise, usually asked pointed questions and waited for the proverbial light bulb of common sense and recognition to go on in my head. But that barren wasteland between my ears remained dark most of the time which is why I am spending so many afternoons trying to see the light.

Say HI Bette, Im sure my head doc would love to meet you. My sarcastic request was met with a silence that filled the room and sent a shiver down my spine. (WHAT WERE YOU THINKING YOU ***** STOOGE? GOD IS JUST GOING TO SAY HEY STELLA, HOW YOU DOIN – ala Joey Tribiannee ??? MORON)

Ok, fine, then, just never mind, I hissed, placing my hand under my butt to resist the temptation of lifting my middle finger and pointing at the back of the couch.

I told the doctor about how I was once again lying to K to hide my addiction, an addiction which I believed was spiraling out of control. Unbelievably, I failed to mention the whole cyber ***** incident. I revealed the fact that I had begun to communicate with some of the authors through e-mails and now was overwhelmed with the obsession of wanting to meet them in person. This is where the doc stopped me and wanted me to dish – spill the goods on the authors I was so attracted to – open up and tell her all about THE ONE, THE OTHER ONE, the *****-like queens, the ones who make me laugh til I cry and the ones who make my cry til I sigh.