|The changes in me have been remarkable.|
I'm going to miss Dr. Cohen. When you look at him, you might wonder who should be on which side of the desk. Yes, he has a desk. No couch. I always wanted a couch. But no couch.
Dr. Cohen is a tiny man. If my stomach had a window in it, like one of those fancy washing machines, he could look at what I had for breakfast and what pills I had taken. He really is a shrink.
He has short gray hair and wears glasses that look too big for his face narrow face. The best part is his attire. I don't think he's purchased new clothes in a couple decades. His sport jackets are right out of the Polyester Hall of Fame. His ties are from the, "What Were You Thinking" signature collection at Wal-Mart. They're always colorful and have very bizarre prints and patterns. Over the last year, I've seen his Peanuts tie, the Moose Tie, Evergreen Trees, Elephants, Pumpkins, Turkeys, Kites and a few other patterns that might be stolen Rorschach Tests. It's been fun having a colorful elf for a psychiatrist.
He may be retiring due to his advanced age. I think he did retire at one point, but he was dug up by archeologists and went into practice to sustain his tie collection.
The real reason I think he's retiring is, he doesn't want to listen to patients anymore.
Every time he asked me a question today, I'd get the first sentence out and then he'd stick up a frail, wrinkled hand protruding from his pale blue sport jacket and wave, "You don't have to go into any details." He did this about six times.
Is it just me or isn't a psychiatrist's job to listen to your issues? This meek, "Shut the fuck up," session was not very productive. In fact, none of our sessions are productive. I get more advice and information for Evelyn, the nurse.
Evelyn, a large, happy black woman with a big gap between her front teeth is a sweetheart. She's kind, knows her stuff and gives me great advice. She thinks I'm hilarious, and that helps, too.
I'll miss Dr. Cohen, only because he's the only Jew besides Jesus that makes me think of Christmas. I always wondered what Dr. Cohen was doing in his elf workshop after I left.
There is a downside to this. The doctor I'm being transferred to I had a five minute session with the last time we met. In five minutes, he whipped out what is called a Pink Slip and I was sent to a psychiatric hospital - where I was jailed for three weeks.
Boy, oh, boy - I can't wait for my next appointment.
Tiny little Dr. Cohen is going away. Yes, my psychiatrist is retiring. He just got tired of listening.
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