Wednesday, September 21, 2011

the problem with my analyst (or how i miss you, how i miss you, my dear old dr. kurtzman)

So at first, I thought the problem with my analyst was that he looked too much like an analyst.


Recently I have come to realize that this is not exactly the case. The real problem with my analyst is that he looks  too much like Jerry Garcia.*


Sadly, (although I scoured the internet) I do not have a picture of my analyst, but let me assure you he looks exactly like this:






Only he is usually wearing a suit. It isn't exactly my analysts's close resemblance to Jerry Garcia in itself, however, that is the real real problem.


The real real problem with my analyst lies in his understanding of and relationship/attachment to this close (and seemingly inherent) resemblance to Jerry Garcia...especially when considered in context with his open (and ostensibly genuine) fondness for the Grateful Dead. Allow me to explain.


I only visit my analyst's office once every three months at which time I am usually running very late and carrying an iced coffee which appears likely to explode at any moment. I inevitably spend most of what little time remains of our appointment trying to place this beverage securely on the carpet in a manner which says "I swear I will not explode on your carpet", while my analyst drones on about the legitimacy of I.O.U.s as a valid form of payment within the "Psychiatric practice". This is why when I first spotted a little grey-haired bobble-head on the desk by the filing cabinet, I assumed it was a custom made mini version of my analyst. This seemed a natural enough possibility to me at the time...it could be a sort of ego/id joke, I thought naively, or perhaps a gift from a very loyal crazy/client.


It wasn't until June that I noticed the Grateful Dead calendar. I must have seen the calendar before but I had written it off...He wants to be cool, I thought. He has a beard, I thought...and he kind of reminds me of someone...


Suddenly it was June and I knew there had to be a reason for this calendar, for this man, and then just as suddenly I turned to that bobblehead on the filing shelf and I knew that that bobblehead was not supposed to be my analyst, that bobblehead was supposed to be Jerry Garcia. To top it off that bobblehead was holding a guitar and that guitar was smaller than its head.


I feared the obviousness of my expression as I turned to my analayst, agape, was enough to reveal the presence of sudden realizations, but he didn't seem to notice. He's become almost obsessively occupied with the payment side of our meetings ever since my card got denied.


Now after much meditation and consideration I really feel the following to be an accurate and true observation:


My analyst is not so much a fan of The Grateful Dead as he is a fan of himself looking exactly like Jerry Garcia.


Why, you say? Because why else? Because, he can't just have the bobble head, can he? No. He can't. He needs to show that he really really likes The Grateful Dead as a creative whole, so he has the calendar to reinforce that he is a FAN of the MUSIC and not solely aware and proud of his uncanny resemblance to Garcia, because for this to be so obviously the case (and he knows this) would be considered severely uncouth in his profession...BUT, and more importantly because of the calendar he can also have the bobblehead. One less or one more Grateful Dead fan item in that office and the whole system would topple (e.g. I am sure his vehicle is not sporting bears).


But why would a licensed professional spend such effort on maintaining a precarious faux dead-head office presentation for the sake of a bobblehead? 

I'll tell you why.

Because he needs the bobblehead. Because then people can see the bobblehead and say to themselves, "Gee, my analyst looks just like Jerry Garcia"-- or should mini Jerry Garcia's mini guitar be obscured by a stack of index cards, they can say directly (and as I imagine is much more to his preference), "Is that you?" and point toward the bobblehead, at which point my analyst can glance up from his stack of payment charts, and, as if hearing this mistake being made for the first time, smile privately to himself, shake his head politely and say with practiced bemusement "Oh no, no, that's Jerry Garcia!"

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