The room is brightly colored, filled with cushions and abstract prints. I try not to look at her-the forty-something woman with WASP-ish good looks and somewhat bohemian, yet probably expensive clothes. So I try to peer at the lawn, visible from the window behind her chair.
"So" she begins, with a smile "it's...I'm not sure how to pronounce your name..."
"It's Giuliana. Like Juliana." Not quite really, but I can't be bothered to explain about the hard "j" sound. My head is lowered, and I've realized I've started playing with the ends of hair. My hair wants cutting, it's lank and bleached. Great, I'm behaving just like a cliché shrink patient.
"All right, what brings you here?" she continues.
Nothing. I was talked into getting this appointment. The more time passes, the less I want to be here at all.
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