Apparently there is some nonsense called “doctor-patient privilege” that prevents E.S. from telling me the most intimate details of his patients’ lives. Nevertheless, as long as he withholds identifying information, he can tell me vague stories every once in a while.
The recent upshot of all this is that, as fucked up as my brain chemistry is, I’d still rather be me than somebody who thinks he’s a fish.
I didn’t realise that many people knew about me.
Ick.
Don’t be so hasty. What kind of fish? Some of those sharks are pretty cool. 😉
Are you sure that E.S. is your boyfriend? What if he is actually your physician and the medication just isn’t working like it should? Wouldn’t that be a kick.
I hope the person who thinks he or she is a fish does not smell like a fish.
P.S. One time, I told Goblin, “Goblin, you smell like a fish!” . . . and she gave me the most irritated look! I guess she is not E.S.’s patient.
You’re much cuter than a fish. Well, most fish anyway.
Goodness. Imagine how awful it’d be if E.S. brought such a patient home. Would you serve red wine or white with him?
that’s the great thing about dating mental health professionals – it really puts things (meaning you) in perspective.
Scarecrow! Scarecrow!
Red Fish Blue Fish Green Fish Yellow Fish
From there to here and here to there
Funny things are everywhere!
(I have the tee-shirt. You should get one for E.S. )
Don’t laugh. Didn’t you see “Splash” with Darryl Hannah and Tom Hanks? It could happen.