Page 243 - WhyAsInY

aas in aeGis;Gas in Gnu
He greeted me at his door and directed me to a couch, where I was to lie down, be comfortable, and tell him what was on my mind. He was seated in a comfortable-looking chair at the foot of the couch. Three things stand out: First, when he asked me if I had had any dreams of late, and when I replied about a dream in which somehow my teeth were involved, he said that teeth were symbols of penises; second, about twenty min- utes later, while I’m talking, I noticed that he hadn’t said anything of late, and I then noticed that his eyes were closed—and soon became convinced that he was sleeping; and third, when I said goodbye, he did not say, “Auf Wiedersehen.” Even if he had said it, I had already concluded that we wouldn’t meet again.
Next up was a psychiatrist who I was told was the head of the depart- ment at NYU. His name was Justin Simon, a memorable pair of names. I sat in a chair in his house, as did he. He actually spoke to me and did not fall asleep or get concerned about penises. I told him that I was con- cerned that I wasn’t really smart and that I left school because, among other reasons, I felt that I was bullshitting my way through and thus depriving myself of the education that I thought I wanted to have. I told him that I was not happy. He interacted with me, and dreams never came up. Aspirations, on the other hand, did. He did not suggest that pharmaceuticals would help. (In those days, before the development of Prozac and its many progeny, psychiatrists did not routinely prescribe antidepressants, which I now think might have made a difference when I was at school.)
At the classic fifty-minute point, Dr. Simon told me that we had reached the end of our time, that our hour was up. I was not aware that psychiatric hours took fifty minutes, so I had learned something. I also learned that I felt disappointed that the session had ended. Recognizing my disappointment, I concluded that maybe this was a good thing after all. I remember little else, except that I had concluded that he was smart, that I liked him, and that I wasn’t sure that I understood exactly what he was doing for me. Later, when one of my parents asked where I was going, and Dr. Simon’s office was the answer, I’d sing, “We’re off to see the wizard.”
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