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Monday, February 09, 2004

Cos Otherwise I Might Forget...

I have an appointment tomorrow with the counselling psychologist at my doctor's surgery. This is regarded as an interim measure. Unfortunately, it takes rather a long time to be receive treatment at the UK's premier mental hospital (to which I have been referred, and for which I have passed the entrance exam.) They have a long line of nutters, and so the wait is about 12 months.

Soooo... in the meantime, I have been referred to a counselling psychologist. Frankly, I suspect I'm way out of her league, but my lovely GP suggested that seeing her might help, and would at least make me feel as though I wasn't just being drugged to the eyeballs.

That reminds me - I managed to swallow a tablet with just a drink yesterday. I hate swallowing tablets after a near death experience with a Mint Imperial in my youth (of course, it wasn't really near-death, but it scared me.) At first, I crushed them and ate them in jam. Then I moved on to being able to eat them with food. Over the weekend, I at last managed to take it with no more than liquid. I tell you, it's a triumph (I have a slight fear of choking. I almost choked on a Mint Imperial, you know.)

So, yes, I have tomorrow off in order to meet my new Professional Listener. I'm nervous about going, of course. There's something about talking about how mad you are which makes you feel, well, a little mad.

I am taking the day off (after negotiations with my colleagues which made the Middle East/Northern Irish peace processes look like simple negotiations) and in the afternoon am hoping to meet up with my brother.

I don't know how to pronounce the surname of my psychologist. I have a couple of options: take a stab at it, get it wrong and look like an idiot OR tell the receptionist I'm there for an appointment with the psychologist, which will mean the whole waiting room knows I'm a little mental. Which option should I go with?

I was most amused - the psychologist sent me a reminder letter about an appointment. Cos, y'know, I have OCD, so there's a good chance I might forget about it and not check the time repeatedly. I wonder if, for patients with amnesia, she figures there's no need to send a letter cos they'll remember.

That may be my opening joke. Depending on how good her sense of humour it is, it could cement our relationship, or cause her to place me in cement outside of the surgery. Unfortunately, I regard every meeting with a health professional as a stand up comedy gig. I figure if I can get them to laugh, it'll all be alright, and they won't do anything really nasty. Often it works, but sometimes it backfires, as with my chiropodist:

(McReadie takes sock off to show infected and ingrown toe/toenail)
Chiropodist: Hmmmm... Yes... How long have you had it?
McReadie: The toe? For as long as I can remember.

The joke bombed. The chiropodist said "No, not the toe, the infection and the ingrown toenail." My attempts to explain I was just kidding around failed miserably, and as she lined up instruments which frankly looked as though they could have been used in medieval torture, I began to feel a little nervous. Don't worry, I survived, but the part where she pulled my nail out with pliers was a little, er, unpleasant.

My Internet has been playing up today. It's very annoying. How am I meant to make it through the working day if there's no way to avoid the working part of the day? It's nigh on impossible.

Anyway, when it came back up, I was pleased to see my virtual buddy from Tennessee was online. He's not virtual in the sense that he's purely a figment of my imagination (I'm not THAT insane), but just in the sense that we communicate online. He was in a class (he said it was boring) writing an e-mail to me (hey, great!) So that brightened up my day.

Season 3 of "24" starts here on Thursday. Are ya excited?

I have spent much of today redoing a task that I stayed late to do on Friday. I received the brief this morning. Logical soul that I am, I wondered whether it wouldn't have been more sensible to send the brief to me before I started rather than after I screwed it up. But I guess that's why I'm just a lowly member of the proletariat and why the brief giver is Chief Executive. If you feel the same as me in your job, then I can suggest therapy. No, not with a psychologist. With a comic strip. Long Live Dilbert.

Wish me luck for tomorrow, then. If I don't post again, assume that I've been admitted to a mental hospital and am allowed no contact with the outside world.

A Really Clever Signoff Goes Here.


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