Going to the Big Couch
February 25, 2014
Years ago, a family member got to spend some quality time in a police car and then in a jail cell. No charges were brought and nothing negative came out of that experience. In fact, the cool thing was that we could now joke about this person’s visit to the BIG HOUSE.
In a similar vein, I’m hoping my visit to the BIG COUCH has a positive result. You see, in a few days I’m going to spend about 49 minutes on a psychologist’s couch spilling my guts, sharing my deepest darkest secrets and asking for guidance. I’m sure that I won’t get my head shrunk in one visit, but I’d like to avoid going all Woody Allen and having my next 50 years of Friday afternoons punctuated by therapy sessions.
That said, I’m also concerned that some people might think that when I spill my lifetime of secrets that their secrets will also be shared. I have it on good authority that the conversations in that room…on that couch…are sacrosanct and don’t get shared anywhere. Regardless, I’ll ask that my therapist either write her notes in code or promise to toss all notes into the furnace when our sessions are complete.
You’ll notice that the previous paragraph might have in it some delusions about the process or my worth to agents of intrigue and mystery. This speaks directly to the reason I think I need to get shrunk. I’m starting to see things lurking in the shadows, I’m suspecting that my cat is going to pluck one of my eyes out during my sleep, and I’m pretty sure the ice cream many purposefully avoids my house because I like to buy my frozen confections using dollar coins and two-dollar bills.
In closing, I’d like to thank the academy and let anyone who is tapping this blog that I take a size 40-42 straight jacket. I also would like pasta and sushi as my mental home foods if it comes to that. While this blog post might not qualify as a living will, it does set somethings out for all to see.
Oh, before I forget. On a very slightly related note, we are selling a double recliner sofa to make room for another kitten and a bistro table. If you’d like to come see it, let me know. We’ll make you a great deal because now that I’m in therapy I don’t have need for a couch at home.
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