Did he remind me of my father? Yes, at times he did. Did it bother me? Yes, at times it did. Did I think at times that he was an idiot? Yes, at times I did. Did I feel superior to him? Yes, at times I did. Did I think that he didn’t really offer any intellectual challenge? Yes. Was he boring? Yes. Did he seem to forget my name sometimes? Yes, he did. Did I look forward to going there every week or every two weeks with a palpable longing to sit in that chair and be bored and look out the window and talk about my adolescence which I did not see the sense in talking about but which he kept insisting was somehow important? yes, I admit that I did, that I was a lost person, that I had lost my way and there was nothing for me in this world except sitting in that room with that idiotic therapist who ought to get some new chairs. I would, I put my hands on the arms of the chair and thought, this chair sucks. This therapist sucks. This therapist is an idiot. Why does he want to talk about my adolescence? Then I would talk about my adolescence and start bawling. Why am I bawling about my adolescence? I am trying to figure this out.
You can’t think your way through it, he says. Thinking is not going to help you.
Well thanks a lot for that, you genius.
