Forgot to mention, my pretties, that in a few hours I will be scraping myself off the sheets, showering in a daze, dressing in unfashionable clothes and hauling myself off to see the pompous and solipsistic Dr Meinhoffer. This little man is quickly becoming the bane of my life, and this will only be our second meeting. Go figure.
He does not go for maudlin, and I am glad for it. But nor does he seem to grasp empathy. I guess that when you become jaded with what you do, it is an inevitability. If only I weren't slated to go to him for advice. He is condescending and patronising, and it would be safe to say, not my kind of guy. But we sacrifice for the greater good, even when the bigger picture is decidedly foggy. Maybe especially so? Who knows.
Is it any wonder, space cadets, that it has taken me this long? Perhaps he is still accustomed to the American patient (being of that United clan himself): acquiescent, almost in awe of the advice-dispensing wisdom of a little man with a cheap jacket and a certificate on the wall behind his desk. I doubt he has met the likes of me before, although the chances of him recognising this past the rumblings of his own discontent are slim at best, non-existent at worst. Ah well, still have to bite the bullet as they so eloquently say.
Biting bullets aside, I am yet to see the point in all this. But I am perceptive, and as such will push on until it all becomes a little clearer. Get the picture?
When the world goes all to hell, who will you think to hold first? And will they think of you ?
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