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Out Of My Mind, Back In Fifteen Minutes -
As the pendulum swings, so do the days of my life. Some days go by faster than others, while some just fly past me with the speed of a Roadrunner/Wyle-E-Coyote cartoon. At present, I'm sitting in a therapist's waiting room across from some guy that's holding a conversation with what appears to be a hand puppet. I can't tell if its a raccoon or a ferret. I guess some are in more need of professional psychotherapy than others. Me, I'm here as part of the department's yearly mental stability examination. We all have to go through it at least during a twelve month period. I'm less than enthusiastic about bearing my soul to a supposed psychological professional that collects Beanie Babies and has them lined up on his office walls, each incased in some sort of plastic box. The tags even have those little plastic covers on them to prevent bending and dog-earing. I mean, what sort of middle aged man collects furry little stuffed animals like crabs, giraffes and pelicans? For a small child, this would be more appropriate, but hey, I guess we all have our quirks.
The office door opens and I see him, Dr. Data. Did I forget to mention that he's also a Trekkie? The only magazines in his waiting room are of a science fiction nature, and as I close and set down the issue of Star Log that I was reading, he gestures for me to join him. Looking over at the puppet talker, I sincerely hope that he's getting his money's worth. Dr. Data closes the door behind us and I take my place on the Lay-Z-Boy in the corner of his office. He's got his legal pad and as he clicks his pen, ready to write, I await the end of his pre session ritual.
He always clicks his pen 4 times and when he sits in his chair, he cracks his knuckles and then his ankles, followed by his neck. Its a wonder that this guy isn't in need of some 3-in-one oil.
Pulling out the foot rest and making myself comfortable, I take a deep breath and begin.
"So, let's see what we've got here. In the last year, I've been shot at no less than fifteen times, attacked or almost attacked about a dozen times and I keep having these really weird dreams that involve a colleague of mine. Oh, and I dress up as a bear on the weekends and dive into fur piles with other bipedal creatures that are also dressed up as animals. There, that should be enough fodder for two hours." I state
Immediately following this last statement, he drops his pen and just stares at me for a few moments. He shakes his head several times and reaches down to retrieve his writing implement.
"Where would you like to start, Captain Brass?"
As I take a long look at him, I notice that Dr. Data has lost some weight since our last meeting; about a good 30lbs, at least. His face is thinner as well as his gut and he's trying out some sort of stubble/scruff thing that's not quite working out. Oddly enough, he's also wearing the same exact outfit he was wearing last time. Come to think of it, he's always wearing the same thing; khakis, a black button down shirt and these ungodly looking knockoff Italian loafers. I know they're knockoffs because, I'm sorry, no self respecting cobbler would make forest green loafers.
Returning my attention to the question at hand, I decide to get the most pressing issue out of the way first. Being shot at, I can deal with. Its all part of the job, as is being assaulted, but these dreams have got to stop. I've bought books about dream analysis and other psyche related, unconscious maladies.
"Ok, well. They usually start off innocent enough and then quickly turn into these bothersome visions of floating heads and marzipan King Fishers. How do you suppose to interpret that?"
I can see that I've got him stumped, which is a small victory in and of itself. I love this guy. When he gets flustered, his left eye twitches and he starts plucking his eyebrow, although I'm not entirely sure he's aware of it. Right now, half of his brow is gone and he's working on the other one. Score one point for Jimmy and zero for Dr. Data. After a few silent moments, he sits up in his chair and has apparently had an epiphany of some sort. He cracks his ankles again and sighs.
"Well, the floating could be interpreted as some sort of sexual repression. Tell me, do you find this woman attractive? I mean, this colleague is female, right?" he asks
"Yeah, she's a she. As to your wondering if she's attractive; I would have to give an affirmative on that one. She's about yea-high" I say, gesturing height relative to the floor "and maybe around a hundred or so pounds with long brown hair and some of the darkest eyes I've ever seen. She's stunning, really."
"And how long have you known her"
"I'd say around four years, give or take." I reply
"What's your professional relationship? Do you and she get along or is there animosity"
"We get on fine. Actually we get on very well. We joke and have meaningful discussions. Sometimes we share meals and a couple of times she's spent the night over at my place, although nothing's ever happened. Truth be told, I think she thinks of me more like a close friend and confidant than as a potential lover. For me, I think that's where most of the stress lies" I explained
I watch as he begins to chew on the end of his pen. Funny, he's never done that before. Something I said must have gotten to him. He appears to be deep in thought. As he flips through the pages of his legal pad, he settles on a page about halfway through. His lips move as he reads to himself and when he looks up, he's got a twinkle in his eye.
"Without breaching any confidences, I think I can help you out, Detective. You see, I heard a similar story the other day and I'm going to give you the same advice that I gave this other person. First, you want to observe this person. You know, when you sit down next to her, try to notice if she shifts when you approach. Look at what she does with her hands. Does she lay them flat in her lap or on the table top or does she fiddle with something? Note her facial expression. Her eyes, does she look away or does she give you her undivided attention? Her speech patterns. Does she speak clearly and distinctly or does she stammer and say "Um" a lot? Take notice of as much as you can without staring at her. Staring tends to make some people uncomfortable." he explained
"Ok, so while I'm ogling this lady, what should I do if she maces me? I mean, if someone did to me all of what you just told me to do to her, I'd be trying to remember where my capsicum foam was." I asked
To that, he had no answer at the ready. He chewed on his pen some more as I fished through my pockets for some gum. Peeling the wrapper from the chewy treat, I offer some to the good doctor.
"Want some? It's Hubba Bubba"
"No, thank you."
Again, with the pen chewing. Finally he speaks up.
"How do you feel when she's around? Do you perspire or have difficulty forming coherent sentences? Do you get tunnel vision or start to panic.?"
"Well, sometimes when I see her at a scene or at the lab, I hear this tune in my head, that out of context is just a tune, but when she's around it's louder." I offer
"And what tune is that?" he asks "The Emperor's theme from Return of the Jedi. You know, when he walks down the gangway with Darth Vader and you hear that low sort of "dun-dun-dun-dun,dun,dun,dun,dun,dun-dun-dun-dun,dun, dun,dun,dun-dun-dun." You know the one?" I say, gesturing high and low notes with my hands
I know I can't sing, so I don't even bother trying, but as I see the look on this guy's face, it looks as if he's having some sort of pre-frontal cortical embolism; his eyes are crossed and his tongue is peeking out of his mouth, but only slightly. Almost the way a child will do when they're concentrating really hard on something. He looks like he's in some sort of pain, and for a moment, I feel kind of sorry for the guy, but the sadist in me is giggling maniacally. Laughing my ass off internally, I offer him some more gum.
"You sure you don't want some Hubba-Bubba? It's grape."
He makes no verbal response to my offer, but just blinks his eyes several times almost like he's trying to banish some thought from his mind. While he searches his mind for a response, I blow a few bubbles. You know, to pass the time.
"Moving on, tell me about your...um...dressing up on the weekends." he says, changing the topic
"Oh, well, that's simple enough. For 48 hours, I indulge my animal side and interact with others that have a compulsion for impersonating furry little creatures. There's a zebra, a bright blue cat, a fox and scads of others. At present, I have a skritching partner that's a polar bear, while I'm a grizzly bear. Neither of us knows what the other looks like and I think that its the anonymity of it all that appeals to me. You know, we all meet and pet and groom each other. Its all really very fascinating." I explained
"And its when you're dressed as a bear that you feel the freedom to bear yourself, as it were" he asks cautiously
"That's exactly it. See, when its just me in my bear suit, I can express the parts of my psyche that I suppress when I'm out in the big, bad world. No one knows its me, Captain Brass. To them, I'm just good old Berry Bear."
"And why the name Berry?" he queried
"Oh, well, I thought I'd pay homage to my berries. You know, my brass...um, well...you know, right?"
Again, with the blinking. I think, maybe, that when I'm done here, he's gonna need to take a few sessions himself. I knew that by telling him this he'd think me a bit off, but if the current look on his face is any indication, I've given him a bit more than he can digest. Right now, he's just staring at me blankly and I notice that our time is almost up. I retract the Lay-Z-Boy foot rest and lean forward a bit, snapping my fingers to get his attention.
"Hey, Doc. So, what do I do"
"About what?" he asks "You know, about the dreams." I reply "Oh, those. Well,...Um"
"So, should I ogle this woman and hope to God that she doesn't mace me"
"Oh, yes, that. Well, just use your best judgment." he says, looking down at his watch "And it would seem as though our session has ended. I wish you luck, Captain."
"Thanks, Doc."
I climb out of the chair and just as I reach out for the door knob, he calls to me. Turning round' , I grin.
"If she makes any sudden movements, like to rifle through her purse or grabs her keys and swings, I suggest you duck."
"Thanks, Doc."
Stepping out into the waiting room, the puppet talker is still there. He's got an odd look on his face and as I open the door to leave the room, he growls.
