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The Sick Saga Continues

July 16, 2009

Oh dear. I’ve had to clear my books and schedule an appointment with my own therapist today because of a disturbing phone call I received from Alan Truitt over at Sick Days. I was all set to discuss Mr. Fundamental Jelly today, but alas, this fresh hell has disturbed my flow and now I’m having to revisit the transference nightmare that is Alan.

Not only is he insisting that he is the therapist and I the patient, but he is fouling up his diagnoses!

Transference is a normal, even welcome (to some extent) part of therapy. There must be a little of the old ‘give and take’ and a certain degree of intimacy in any good doctor/patient relationship. How could I build trust if I never shared myself?

So I divulged something of my relationship with my brother, Sigmund, and now Mr. Truitt has taken it all and turned it upside down and inside out and round and round.

To set the record straight:

1. I did not give cocaine to my father. I gave opiates to my six younger siblings, but it was to help them relax, as our family life was very stressful.

2. Sometimes infantile sexuality is just a cigar. Other times it’s an attempt for an extremely ill patient to deflect attention from his perversions. Repeating a snippet of information over and over in a repetitive fashion does not a truth make. Imagination is fun, but it gets us nowhere. Need I bring up Carlita?

3. While I agree that Alan’s problems, in both places, require attention, limiting himself to sexually charged exchanges merely illustrates how far our friend must progress to overcome the urgings of his Id.

Oh, it’s time for my appointment so I must go. But Alan, fear not. We will overcome this difficulty you are having with accepting your illness, your dysfunction, and my place in your life.

Your homework, until we meet again, is this: try to forget about cigars. Put away the tutu and the not-so-subtle innuendo.  We are grownups here, playing grownup games. Your health is important to me.

And do try to remember that I have other patients who need me too, though not nearly as much as you do.

“Sick Days” Indeed

July 12, 2009

Today’s first case involves Alan Truitt from “Sick Days,” an aptly named bid for attention he created to illustrate just how inane people in offices can be.  And he does a striking job of it, even demonstrating his own pitiful lack of interpersonal skills by being completely unable to speak in the presence of his Dulcinea, one Carlita Paonessa. Damn Carlita Peonessa.

I must confess that I first found Mr. Truitt so riddled with deep-seated issues, I feared we would never be done with therapy.

Then I began to fear we might finish too quickly.  You’ll understand why soon enough.

Because Alan’s, er, Mr. Truitt’s therapy has been so extensive, I’ve taken the liberty of simply copying some of my session notes here. I did not ask his permission. We have something of an understanding between us, which is that he won’t sue me because I’m a ghost, and the courts do not look kindly on frivolous lawsuits.

Haha! Did you like my little joke? Oh, I just really crack myself, as they say. No, the courts have no problem whatever with silly suits, including Alan.

So here is a glimpse at the secret mind of the Sick Days creator:

Me: So, Mr. Truitt, I understand you are here today to discuss the inadequacies that prevent you from fully releasing your shyness and embracing your true nature. It says here you are stuck in an emasculating workplace, that you frequently spend hours writing dirty lyrics for songs you make up in your head, and that you are obssessed with rhyming couplets. Is that correct?

Alan: Nerk.  Uh, I….snork…nerkal.  Bplatt.

Me: I see. It might be worse than I suppose. Can you tell me what you see here, in this pen I’m holding up?

Alan: Aaaaah! AAAAAAHHHH! Nerrrrrrrr.

Me:  Shhhh, no, no, Mr. Truitt. It’s okay. I’ve put it away now. Please, let’s calm down now. Sometimes, Mr. Truitt, a  pen is just a…well, nevermind. I can see that this first session has already been very stressful, so I’m going to administer….shhh! No, really, you are safe here, Alan. Alan, please calm down!  A psychological test! That’s all! Here. Take this home with you and I’ll look over it when you return. See my secretary to make your next appointment.  I’ll see you soon.

But not soon enough, I’m afraid.

Vee Is For Valley

July 9, 2009

My calendar appears quite free at the moment, so I am taking this opportunity to answer some unasked questions, and to probe *cough* people’s psyches while they carry on their normal, every gay business.

My first client of the day is Scott over at Zodi’s Blog.

Today in particular, Scott’s desire for a mother figure is ever so apparent, as we view photographs of his morning jog through the winding valleys of his home in Spain. Those valleys penetrate the lumpy hills and lush, fertile, heaving land, creating a warm welcome back to childhood’s heaving bosom.

Note the parallels between where he chooses to live and the rolling mounds of motherly flesh he must surely have been abandoned by at too vulnerable a point in his life, and now he is left to search for that mother, flitting from country to country but with no motherland in sight.

Poor, poor Scott.

I suggest that he should talk about it. Confess his desire for a mother. Perhaps even share his reunion fantasies with his wife. A little role play would not be out of order.

I know the name of an excellent costumer, if one is needed.

Godspeed, Scott.