Thursday, February 17, 2011
The Lighter Side
Yesterday I was referred to a psychiatrist in order to discuss my disturbingly bleak and bitter new outlook on life. I reached her service, which assured me they'd call back with an appointment as soon as possible. Which turned out to be after lunch today. I ducked into an empty conference room and took the call.
My potential therapist introduced herself to me and asked me how I was feeling. I felt OK and said so and I was going to add "at the moment" and elaborate that it was the sudden shifts in mood that were troubling me, but she cut me off politely.
"I'm afraid I have some bad news", she said slowly, as if to let the compassion seep into each syllable, " unfortunately my client load is completely full and I can't take on any more patients now. I can give you some numbers...are you sure you are alright?"
I assured her that I was and she rung off.
I had to laugh. Yesterday I had a phone screening, after which I was told that my condition was severe and someone would call me as soon as possible, which I thought meant the same day. It took 24 hours for my call to be returned and then it was only to inform me that they were too busy to help me and that I should call someone else.
Fine. If that is the way it is, so be it. When I finally find someone to help me, I hope I remember the tragicomic poetry of that phone call and how perfectly it meshed with the feelings that drove me to seek help in the first place.
Strange thing was, I was smiling so hard that I figure I must have been cured , despite never having seen a shrink in the first place.
Treatment sure has come a long way since the day of One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, I reckon. This new psychiatry is about as out-patient as you can get, the whole treatment could fit on Twitter if it had to.
Only I didn't have much time to think about telecommunications and my miraculous new recovery because my manager interrupted my reverie with some interesting news.
Work gave me a bonus and shiny letter about my "positive attitude and professional guidance". The award was for work done in 2010, back when I actually was happy.
Then I found out I'm going on another trip, which is OK with me except I still feel down and need to find someone I can pay to listen to me talk. Maybe I'll get sent to Vegas and I can pay someone to have sex with me instead, which would probably cure my sadness a lot faster than talking would anyway.
I'm kidding, of course!
I don't have to pay anyone to listen to me, my insurance covers it.