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“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.

18 Comments leave one →
  1. July 12, 2009 5:17 pm

    Sweet baby jesus! This therapy session seems to have played out as badly as Dr. Holden’s attempted introductory Q&A with Leon K. It may be best to proceed with caution (and a loaded gun) when navigating towards the prerequisite mother questions.

    Awesome stuff, BKT! Nothing beats a solid (?) ghost writer. Just ask Mssrs. Cussler and Clancy. Add’l kudos for the Tombstone references.

    • slipperyfreudian permalink*
      July 12, 2009 9:04 pm

      Well, dear CLT. It’s not a party if there are no Tombstone or Fight Club references, now is it?

      Welcome. I can squeeze in just a few minutes with you now, between appointments. But I do hope you’ll see my secretary on your way out. He’ll schedule you for a full hour as soon as possible.

      In the mean time, I must say I’m concerned that your initial reaction was “Sweet baby jesus.” “Sweet Jesus” or “Jesus Christ on a Popsicle stick,” yes, I can see that being appropriate. But a reference to the baby Jesus is obviously a thinly veiled reference to Mary, the baby’s mother. One cannot invoke the sweet baby Jesus without thinking of his mother and her glowing virginity.

      I must hurry, my next patient is here. But I leave you with this: you cannot go back, CLT. The years of fresh-faced, innocent young girls are behind you now. You must focus on what you have. Explore those yearnings in writing, or by listening to really awful music, like Fad Gadget. Get that disappointment out while you mosh. Find a way to deal with this remorse over youth long gone.

      I’ll see you soon.

      -GoF

      • July 12, 2009 9:40 pm

        Ah, Freud, again another mention of Mr. Fad Gadget. I can only conclude that you love him and don’t even realize it — yet. We have entered the anima animus phase. Let’s celebrate with opiates. We are making progress, Freud. Next, I suggest you listen to Inspector Gadget’s delightfully pithy song “Ad Nauseam” to the point of nausea and while you do, sing along to the song’s cheery lyrics…

        Tarred and feathered like a gutted chicken
        Stuck in a rut out of luck ad nauseam
        Sew up my lips and cut my throat
        I choke on the gag but I don’t get the joke

        Spineless and fish-like, I swim in the mire
        I swear like a saw-tooth, fin-flap and gill
        Scrap this ludicrous chain of events
        Tear away from book-form and screen-time

        Scream ’till I’m hoarse and strapped to my carriage
        I bite on the bit of spittle and white bait
        Cloven hooved I scratch at my thorax
        Yelling I loathe you and smelling a rat
        The price that I paid in suicide notes
        Sighing and screwing and fucking about
        Name a disease that’s not out to tease me
        Spike thru the tongue and eyeballs are razored

        Snap your teeth on concrete and order
        Don’t say what you feel if it stinks of disorder
        So tell me that you hate me
        And I will feel good
        The price that I pay is measured in years
        Sucker on the exhaust of crime lights
        So sew up my mouth and then slit my throat
        I choke on the gag but I don’t get the joke

        Tarred and feathered like a gutted chicken
        Stuck in a rut out of luck ad nauseam
        Sew up my lips and cut my throat
        I choke on the gag but I don’t get the joke

        Spineless and fish-like, I swim in the mire
        I swear like a saw-tooth, fin-flap and gill
        Scrap this ludicrous chain of events
        Tear away from book-form and screen-time

        So tell me that you hate me
        And I will feel so good
        Sew up my mouth and then slit my throat
        I choke on the gag but I don’t get the joke

        Sucker on the exhaust of crime lights
        Sucker on the exhaust of crime lights

        Sew up my mouth and then slit my throat
        I choke on the gag but I don’t get the joke

        • slipperyfreudian permalink*
          July 13, 2009 5:48 pm

          Well, I won’t deny you may be on to something with the Fad Gadget love thing. I won’t close any doors, if you know what I mean. Or as that fellow in the movie Hair says, “If Mick Jagger were in my bed, I wouldn’t kick him out.” But that’s irrelevant, I suppose, because you are way too young for Mick. Oh. I feel a bit confused.

          Anyway, I also wanted to let you know that when people say, “Size doesn’t matter,” they are talking about comments. No need to show off, mmkay?

          • July 13, 2009 5:59 pm

            Confusion is only natural, Freud. It’s all part of finding your way through the maze of phobias, quirks, repressed memories, denial, anxiety and the plethora of other psychological nasties that plague you. But we are getting closer to a breakthrough. 10 years tops, I say. 20 at the most.

            As for the size dig. Good one! The technical term for what you have done here is a Truittism Shame and Blame. Named after me. The world’s greatest psychoanalyst.

            We can talk about your fear of spelling the word “cheque” at another time. Up next we have repressed memories to dig up. Bring a shovel!

            • slipperyfreudian permalink*
              July 13, 2009 6:37 pm

              As the youngsters say these days, “Bring it.”

              • July 13, 2009 6:58 pm

                Hahaha!

                Ah, so we are bringing the subject of your brother’s theories of infantile sexuality into the mix. And about time. Personally I never believed the criticisms from those who felt it muddied and corroded the perception of infants and consequently destroyed the foundation of the society.

                By the way is that a “backhoe”?

                Interesting…

                • slipperyfreudian permalink*
                  July 13, 2009 7:07 pm

                  Baby got backhoe.

                  Bring on the backhoes.

                  Ditches and backhoes.

                  Backhoes gotta eat too.

                  Goin’ backhoe to Cali.

                  You didn’t know I was so hip, did you? I’m a Renaissance therapist.

                  • July 13, 2009 8:29 pm

                    These are intriguing and very revealing, Freud. I shall analyze and get back to you. Don’t forget to write down all your dreams! I’m sensing real progress. Renaissance, hmm? Fascinating! Fascinating…

              • July 14, 2009 1:08 am

                um…… why did i watch that video?

                • slipperyfreudian permalink*
                  July 14, 2009 11:48 am

                  Fascinating, Nurse Myra. I’ll pencil you in soon, and we can discuss your compulsions in further detail.

  2. July 12, 2009 5:24 pm

    Freud…

    Well, you are keeping the transcripts… But I seem to remember our conversation sounding more like this…

    GoF: 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: Well, Freud. I’m not sure what any of this has to do my compulsive masturbating and your counter transference but I do suppose it all shall lead their lead eventually. By the way, sorry about your couch – and thanks for the flowers and chocolates. They were super bon bons. (To quote “Soul Coughing” that is…) Inadequacies is an interesting word, Freud, and one we can discuss in greater detail later. I’ll arrange an appointment for you. But yes Hamish is emasculating, and indeed, my filthy lyrics are dirty. Obsessed with couplets? Was Tiberius obsessed with nerking the slaves in his pool? I think you see where I’m going with this. And, no Freud, that isn’t a squash in my pocket, I’m just glad to see you and your theories of the unconscious mind.

    GoF: 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: It would appear to be a phallic shaped pen, Freud. Hmm, tell me more about your brother, Sigmund

    Gof: 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.

    Alan: Yes, in your collective unconscious dreams (sorry to bring up the Jungian stuff, but there is merit to some of it). Please write them down and tell me about them. The one you had of me in the tutu was particularly revealing. Anyway, we can talk more about that later. By the way. Did you receive my bill? I ask because I still haven’t received a cheque. Anyway, we have much work to do Sigmund. This may take years but I will save you. As long as your cheques continue to clear, of course.

    • slipperyfreudian permalink*
      July 13, 2009 2:18 pm

      Alan, dear,
      Of course you believe that’s what you were saying. I’m not surprised at all. It’s not as if in your mind you are desiring to say “nerk,” it’s just that your unconscious mind is too unexplored to produce anything but awkward syllables and nonsense utterances. You simply must delve into those deeper desires, lay them bare so that in stressful situations you can emit your real feelings spontaneously, prematurely, perhaps even nocturnally.

      While I do appreciate a keen intellect such as yours, I can’t help but sense you are angry with me. Your turning of the tables in this way, in order to publicly castrate chastise me, is juvenile and cruel.

      But I forgive you, since you included a Soul Coughing reference. Well done, good fellow. I’ll play along with your little game of “patient analyzes the doctor” but I must insist you stop conjuring the image of you in a tutu. I’m willing to explore your trans-gender desires, but I think we need to work on the basics, first.

      As for Jung, I have nothing against the collective unconscious theory. There certainly is some merit there. But don’t try to shove it down my throat, please. I’m not interested in conversion. Only transference.

      Don’t be so difficult, Alan. See you next week.

      • July 13, 2009 4:54 pm

        But Freud,

        Challenging you is the only way you can get the help that you so desperately need. It’s difficult, and painful, but we must push on if you are to ever get “cured.” (Hah! We can both laugh at that one, eh Freud. Hahaha “cured by psychoanalysis”) Anyway, I know you still feel guilt for your part in prescribing cocaine to your father. We’ll need to go into this in greater detail. I’ve made a note in your case file. Oh, and when discussing you with my colleagues, I will herein refer to you as “The Case of Siggy O” Fear not for your anonymity but continue to be concerned about your stability. I’ve booked you for next week. Oh, and by the way. Your cheque bounced. Again.

        • slipperyfreudian permalink*
          July 13, 2009 5:44 pm

          Alan,

          It’s clear that you’ve misunderstood the word “transference.”

          And also, the word “sister.”

          I am not my brother. He is the one who prescribed cocaine to our father. He is also the one who had the falling out with Jung, while I have no particular problem with the fellow, may he rest in peace. And while my brother was temperamental and even volatile, I am merely emotionally labile. And I don’t believe all man’s problems are about their mothers. I believe they are all about me.

          Wait a minute – I don’t like this being on the defensive. After all we’ve been through together? I don’t know how you can humiliate me so. I thought we had something special. I thought we were finally getting somewhere. But clearly your psychosis is physical in nature. These hallucinations about cheques, the misspelling of the word “check”…it all tells me that you need a potent drug regimen.

          I can’t help you if you won’t admit there’s a problem, Alan. Please do come back when you are ready.

          Fondly,
          Your Siggy

          • York Mills permalink
            July 13, 2009 5:47 pm

            That’s good, Freud. Let it all out. Let the healing begin…

  3. July 12, 2009 10:11 pm

    Sometimes a pen that looks exactly like a large penis is, is well, nevermind.

    There is no ‘i’ in pens.

    • slipperyfreudian permalink*
      July 13, 2009 4:35 pm

      Absolutely true, Fundamental Jelly. But there is an ‘s’ and that’s a much better letter anyway. It’s so serpentine, and snakes are so….sensual. Slippery. Slithery. I get shivers just thinking about them.

      Excuse me. I think I need a moment to myself.

      Where did I put that pen?

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