A Consultation

You were talking about disinclination. Let’s explore that idea further, if we may.

No, sorry, I thought I made it plenty fucking clear that I’m feeling disinclined.

Well, perhaps then you might tell me a bit more about your travels in Saudi Arabia.

I’m afraid you’ve once again mistaken me for another patient. I’ve never given Saudia Arabia so much as a thought, let along traveled there. I’ve no doubt I’d find the place repellent –nothing personal. A great deal of sand, if I’m not mistaken? Camels? Not the sort of exotica that appeals to me, I’m afraid. I have similar reservations about Asia.

(The doctor consults his watch –a slow, deliberate gesture– and commences to drumming impatiently on a clipboard with his pen.)

You’ll certainly agree that nothing productive can come of this if we sit here night after night talking about absolutely nothing. Perhaps by mutual agreement we might put an end to these sessions, or –and this would be refreshing– you might tell me what it is you hope to accomplish by spending this time each evening. (He glances again at his watch.) It’s four o’clock in the morning, actually, and I don’t suppose I need to tell you that it is not generally my habit to keep such unorthodox practice hours, particularly when the patient is so reticent and entirely devoid of insight or even interest regarding his own predicament. Could I please ask you to turn down that music? How can you possibly think when you’ve got that gloomy racket pounding away?