"This is better than Stephen King", says Carl.
"Decidedly", I concur.
"Read some more?" says Francois."
"Okay", say I. "Next entry. October 12, four days later. Ready?"
"So much for hypnosis. I spent an hour in that comfy chair in the Psychiatrists' office. We did our first session of hypnotherapy, and nothing. Zero. One big fat blank. In fact, I fell asleep in the chair, and didn't even dream. He seemed very disappointed, and so am I. But relieved actually. He actually has the nerve to call me one of the most resistant to therapy patients he has ever dealt with. He has also complimented me on my very strong sense of self. Or, whatever. I even suggested to him that my having a strong sense of self might be just the ticket for making me resistant to therapy, to which Vince replied, 'Touché!' I have told him everything I can remember about Lindstrom, and he is completely baffled, as am I. He suggested calling the police, and this is something I haven't ruled out, except for one little detail. I ran into so much grief from those fucking pigs when I was Cassandra that I am not prepared yet to repeat the trauma, especially about something so woo-woo and weird as this Lindstrom from outer space who says he's my dad. Vince, is wondering if he could just be a delusion, a kind of projection, and I am not ruling that out either. Right now, I am not prepared to rule out anything...
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