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The Secret of Pie.

15.


Therapy yparehT.


When I walk into the office of my psychiatrist, he says, "How are you?"

"Fine," I reply.

He gives me the medication I want, anyway. It's the public heath service and he's swamped by men and women who come in every ten minutes, expanding the shape of his waiting room with flesh like a kid blowing into a balloon. So he has an in and out policy, a therapy session born out of his desire to give you medication, and your desire to take it. Since I appear like a reasonable fellow, we've no problems, though he constantly tells me that I should meet a nice girl and fuck her on a regularly basis. It'll be like a relationship, he tells me, though I think he just wants the movies I make of it.

Anyhow, I'm on the candy medication now and doing fine. Thanks for asking. If you're worried, the worse that can happen is that I'll find some cats and jam it down their throats for laughs, then set them on fire and toss them into the neighbours cooking shed to mix in with the spices they've got there. Still, I tell you, if you got problems, therapy is a cool thing. Don't fear it.

16.


Pie.


In what will surprise many of you to learn, I make pie. From nothing but ingredients to crust and boiled apples (or apricots) and a top and put into the oven and cooked.

My Nanna is eighty four and a tiny, silver haired British woman who makes fine pie. You eat her pie and for years when you have something not hers, you say, "All I'm eating now is inferior pie." The story goes that she learnt it from her mother and grandmother in England, the latter who ran a bakery when my Nanna was a little girl. It's the kind of thing that's got age to it, and when you eat the pie, you can taste that. For example, the recipe involves things like lard, which I didn't even know you could still buy until she laid it out for me. Anyhow, unlike my Nanna, I can't make great pie. I made mediocre pie because I'm in the learning stages, but I like to tell people I make pie because it makes them blink, look to the left, look to the right, and go, "Um," in clear confusion. But the truth is, I'm learning how to make pie because my Nanna is cool and eighty four, and one day she and my Pop won't be round no more (that's a fact for us all) and I'd like to have something to remember them by.


(I am still answering thirty questions. Half way through. It's really not even questions now. People are just leaving words and I go from there. Anyhow, leave whatever, and feel free to participate.)

Comments

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benpeek
May. 3rd, 2005 10:36 pm (UTC)
well, my theory is you get what you put into therapy. but it can be helpful, if for no other reason than to get some meds and straighten your life out. (i wouldn't pay too much attention to everything i say here, though.)

anyhow, yes, cool meeting you, too. me sleepy now. don't want to go to office. suppose i will.
bradav
May. 3rd, 2005 02:27 pm (UTC)
That which may be a silly question.
you write: 15.


Therapy yparetH.

I ask:
should the second one be yparehT? (as in tH or hT?)
benpeek
May. 3rd, 2005 10:33 pm (UTC)
Re: That which may be a silly question.
why yes it should.

this is because i'm an idiot. also, because i was tired and went to be shortly after. ah well. fixed. thanks.
coalescent
May. 3rd, 2005 05:26 pm (UTC)
Smock.

Rosemary.

Kneecaps.

So beautiful, so empty.

Go go go!
benpeek
May. 3rd, 2005 10:38 pm (UTC)
smock!

you bastard. anyhow, okay.
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