In any event, hemorrhoids was what had bubbled up into her brain. Just looking at him made her feel mischievous. He probably wondered if she were playing the wiseacre, with her “hemorrhoids,” but he rolled with it.

The trainer looked like a cocky little bastard up there on the podium with his deep tan, white tennis shirt, and peach-colored sweater, a dynamite color combination, all very casual and spontaneous-after about two hours of trying on different outfits in front of a mirror, that kind of casual and spontaneous, if her guess was right. My husband! my wife! my homosexuality! my inability to communicate, my self-hatred, self-destructiveness, craven fears, puling weaknesses, primordial horrors, premature ejaculation, impotence, frigidity, rigidity, subservience, laziness, alcoholism, major vices, minor vices, grim habits, twisted psyches, tortured souls-and then it had been her turn, and she had said, “Hemorrhoids.” What did they want to eliminate from their lives? Why, they took their fingers right off the old repress button and told the whole room. And how they had talked about them! They had all marched right up to the microphone and “shared,” as the trainer called it. But Christ, the others are concentrating on things that sound serious and deep when you talk about them. They’re all strewn across the floor of the banquet hall with their eyes closed, just as she is. Many others are stretched out on the carpet all around her some 249 other souls, in fact.

That was how she ended up lying here concentrating on her hemorrhoids.Įyes shut! deep in her own space! her hemorrhoids! the grisly peanut.

That was how she ended up in her present state … stretched out on the wall-to-wall carpet of the banquet hall of the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles with her eyes closed and her face pressed into the stubble of the carpet, which is a thick commercial weave and feels like clothes-brush bristles against her face and smells a bit high from cleaning solvent. They even provided vomit bags, like the ones on a 747, in case you literally let it gush out! Then the trainer told everybody to think of “the one thing you would most like to eliminate from your life.” And so what does our girl blurt over the microphone? The trainer said, “Take your finger off the repress button.” Everybody was supposed to let go, let all the vile stuff come up and gush out.

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