September 5th 1992
My last patient of the day called to cancel. He is a kleptomaniac who was incarcerated this afternoon at a "Quicky Lube". He felt like he could slip passed the employees with four cases of oil and something called a "dip stick". Unfortunately, that name will stick with him throughout his remaining time in the big house.
When my secretary asked why he called my office and not his mother to bail him out, he declared that last month he, quote-unquote, "hocked" his mother's house phone and she hasn't spoken to him since.
Now I have an opening in my schedule. Perhaps a patient will call with schizophrenia. You know, they never complain if they are double billed in error.
Maris is quite enjoying her new Mercedes Benz I bought her for her fortieth birthday this year. It is nearly impossible to find an adult booster seat to match the interior of the new Mercedes Benzes. For the most part, she'll have one of the staff members drive her around in it. She put the booster seat in the back where she sits. She would sit in the front passenger seat, but sitting up front makes her car sick.
Frasier has stopped returning my calls. I must have left him a half-dozen messages. Perhaps he has gone through a tragedy of some sort. If he had, Lilith would have called. This isn't the first time he has shut me out. When Frasier was in the eighth grade, I, inadvertently, jumped on his brand new clarinet. His high C was never the same. Or perhaps he is still holding a grudge against how we got kicked out of the Donnafugatta Winery in Sicily back in May.
Whether it be "yay" or "nay", I choose not to get into a temperament dismay and sit here in this café enjoying my double-cappuccino. What a splendid java nook. Ah, my regular haunt.