Where to begin? I wrote Bob over at the Western Nassau VMF. If you recall, he dangled the hope of my getting a job there and getting away from Gary. Apparently both were taken, but did Bob bother letting me know, even knowing how much I wanted out of here? Of course not! That’s why I hate even the people I like sometimes, because they just don’t come through for me.

I saw Tracey yesterday. I feel weird about her now, too. When I went for my first appointment with her, at the HIP Center, I went to the pay window to give them my usual $10 co-pay. I was told there wasn’t any. So I, despite the fact that every week an invoice for Tracy indicating a $10 co-pay arrived in my mailbox, I assumed it was either incorrect or Tracy was just absorbing it. She never asked me for any money, so I assumed we were even in the pay column.

Then, last week, she tells me that she had a “service” doing her payment paperwork and since she wasn’t paying attention to any of it, I was supposed to be paying those co-pays! She said she would figure out how much I owe her and we’d “work something out.”

So that must mean I owe her somewhere between $600-700, huh? That doesn’t sit right with me at all. You can look at this a couple of ways. Sure, I should have called HIP in New York and asked—do I have a co-pay for shrink visits or not? Or was it that I didn’t have a co-pay for my FIRST visit, but did for all subsequent ones? Does Tracey have a right to back-bill me for all those co-pays because she wasn’t paying attention to her own accounting? Why didn’t her “service” hit me up for those co-pays a long time ago?

And yesterday, when I went to see her, why didn’t she hold out her hand and ask me for a $10 co-pay, now that we know I’m supposed to be paying her?

What this does is make me feel that her bottom line is more important than my mental health. Which makes me feel that maybe I should stop seeing her. I noticed that the last invoice that came to my house, she charged quite a bit more for my session last week than the session before, $40 more. Perhaps she’s decided to get her co-pays back that way? I don’t know. She did say that she bought a puppy, Lucy, from the puppy store across the street (puppy mill?—I hope not) and she will join our session next week. Hey, I think it will do me more good petting sweet, furry Lucy than talking to Tracey, in whom I’ve lost a bit of faith after this money incident.

I’m paying Nancy a visit from July 2-5, flying from Kennedy Airport to Buffalo. I’ve been really curious to see her new house, and I want to see how she’s doing now that she’s on antidepressants. She’s called me a lot, and I’m ashamed to admit when I see her number on caller ID, I don’t answer because I just don’t want to talk to her. Sounds mean, I know, but there’s a lot behind that. I can’t forget that talking to Nancy used to depress me terribly--all those lunches and breaks we spent together when she regaled me with horrific stories about her childhood. I used to return to my desk so down, I wanted to slit my wrists! I realized Nancy was desperately in need of medication, but knew it would take a crisis to get her on it. Sure enough, she collapsed on the job in Buffalo and ended up hospitalized for quite a while. She’s trying to collect disability retirement, but they’re fighting her on it.

Part of me is nervous about visiting Nancy. She tried to get me to extend my visit to a full week, and even offered to pay the fee to change my flight. I demurred. I think a short visit is best to start. She’s TOO eager to get me there, and insisted she wanted just ME there, sans Dan, at least this time. She keeps calling to tell me about a nearby house for sale, and how, if I like it in Buffalo, Dan and I can buy it and live there cheaply. I keep cracking jokes about her trying to keep me there, forever her friend, at gunpoint. I’ve told more than one person to contact the FBI if I don’t come back on my return flight as scheduled. Let’s hope it really IS a joke!

A few weekends ago, Anne came out by bus from Maryland to Manhattan. I took the LIRR and met her there, on the corner of Seventh Avenue and 34th Street. It was an extremely hot, muggy day, and poor Anne, who had broken her ankle a couple of years ago, wasn’t having an easy time walking and keeping up with me. We also had to keep ducking into air-conditioned stores to get out of the stifling heat. She treated me to tickets to a marvelous play, a musical version of LEGALLY BLONDE. We had seats way up, but it was still fantastic, and I thoroughly enjoyed myself. The score was a real toe-tapper.

The day we met was Anne’s wedding anniversary; it’s clear she and her husband are having problems. I felt bad for her—and at the same time, more sanguine about my own marriage.

Love, Robin