Wednesday. It's always a good day, wednesday. It holds the sweet fear of knowing that I'll see R. on the thursday. Client R.
She's not obviously special. There's the flat brown hair, the somewhat long, even large face but it's the thin, pliable skin that faintly suggests, at thirty six, a weariness of using her overt vulnerability and points to a suggestion of wanting, even desiring a genuine chat. She wants to be honest with someone and as a mark of this she has cultivated a plainer style, so, as ever drawn to faint neglect, I warmed to her instantly. But I have, of course, honoured her apparent intentions. And while in the summer months I may have discerned her youthful breasts, I was never unaware she once practiced law. Yet here I am, thinking of her. Is she my nemesis? Is she, really? This faintly boring woman broken by the infidelities of a boring husband? What am I doing.

I know what'll happen.She'll demand her own complete abasement, defilement even, leaving me haggard with my own cruelty and then, without a blink, she'll take me to the cleaners. Someone'll have to pay for her pain.

Now let's be clear. In 12 years of practice I have never abused my position. Ever. In fact, I have 18 years of therapeutic work and a completely unblemished record. There.

I must walk the dog.