Mary, I would like you to freely associate with the word Forest.
Could you do that for the group?
Could you do that for the group?
Will it help lift my mood? I feel oddly burdened by the thought of even more
kids. I have the strangest notion they will turn out exactly like the two first.
It might. Let's try.
Forest. Forest. Trees. Spring. Green. Money. Amex.
No wait. I'm sorry. I will try again.
Forest. Leaves. Leaves on the ground. Me lying on the leaves on the
ground. Brent lying on top of me lying on the leaves on the ground.
Wait. I apologize. I just don't know where that image came from!
A-ha-ha-ha-ha.
Deep breath in. Deep breath out.
Forest. Eucalyptus trees. Tasmania. Sigh. Hot sun outside. Cool shade.
Halfnaked sunscreen glistening rugbylooking surfers checking me out. Cool beer.
A barbee. Midnight frolicking on the beach buck naked with Brent.
Snif. I want to go home. I hate this place.
Perhaps we should work with those raw emotions, Mary? Try home.
Home. Home. Home away from home. Fredensborg. Prison cell. Children who
wont leave me alone. A dog that constantly wants attention. Frederik. Rope.
Lasso. Demeaning conversations begging for sex while trying to coax him out
from under the bed.
How did I end up here? One rub and suddenly I'm trapped with the man child
from hell. Everything is about him. His family. His castles. His bleeding subjects.
Ever wondered how many cities in Denmark starts with the word Frederik?
Too many, mate! When is it about me?
Me. Mary Elizabeth. Sigh. Tiny fine boned delicate little me. A frail orchid trapped
in a cage with neandertals.
Mary. Princess. Crownprincess. Mother. Wife. Goddess. Subscriber to Billedbladet.
It helped! Suddenly I feel glowing and upbeat again. Wait? Where did everyone go?
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