After last night’s fresh batch of dreams, I can’t help but imagine what it would be like if Imaginary Keith did end up in therapy.
Therapist: Hello Mr. Keith, nice to meet you.
Imaginary Keith: Nice to meet you. You can call me Imaginary if you like.
T: Would that make you more comfortable, Mr. Keith, if I called you imaginary?
IK: Of course. I’ve always been more comfortable with first names. More personable.
T: Alright, Mr. Keith, that’ll be fine.
IK: Imaginary.
T: Yes, imaginary, ok. We’ll get to that . . now it says here (glancing at paper) that you want to talk about some dreams right away.
IK: Yea. I’d like to get right down to business. Get my money’s worth, you know.
T: Yes. It also says here that you’d like only five minute sessions. I’m afraid . . .
IK: If that’d be okay with you. I think five minutes is about all I need each day. I’ll just squeeze off one or two dreams and you just sort of shoot from the hip as I head out the door. It’ll be fast and easy and I’m thinking you can just slip me in between a couple of your regularly scheduled sessions. It seems like an easy money maker for you.
T: Well, Mr. Keith, first of all, I should explain to you that the concept behind . . .
IK: Wait, wait, wait. Let’s just give this a try before you go and convince me I need more time. Besides, five minutes a day, seven days a week, that’s almost a whole session right there if you add it up. And don’t forget, call me Imaginary.
T: Yes, I keep forgetting, don’t I. Well, Imaginary, the office is closed on weekends, and I’m afraid 25 minutes per week is hardly enough . . .
IK: Oh. Oh, I know, I’ll just phone those days in. You can give me your home number later. And maybe a cell too, just in case.
T: Mr. Keith . .
IK: Imaginary. Okay, here it is. I was back in high school, walking down some hallway that I didn’t recognize. And I think I was new to the school because I didn’t recognize any faces. The funny part was that I wasn’t me, but a Shakespearian character. I think I was Hamlet, but I may have been Polonius or even Touchstone. It was a little hazy there. But the point, I think, is that I kept asking for directions and no one could understand me.
T: Mr. Keith . .
IK: They weren’t laughing or anything, but just had these blank looks on their faces. Like they couldn’t understand a single word I was saying.
T: (staring)
IK: I’d say something like: I have of late, but wherefore I know not, lost all my sense of direction, foregone all custom of excercises; and indeed it goes so heavily with me that this goodly frame, this goodly school of learning, seems to me a sterile promontory; this most excellent hallway, the air, look you, this brave o’erhanging flourescent, this majestical linoleum, fretted with hordes of underclassmen, why it appeareth nothing to me but a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours”
T: (nothing)
IK: We’re almost out of time, aren’t we?
T: Yes, I believe we are.
IK: Well, what do you think?
T: Mr. Keith, dreams are a complex . .
IK: tick tick tick
T: Mr. Keith, how can you expect me to understand . .
IK: Expect? That’s it! You’re a genius doctor. The five minute miracle man. How could I expect them to understand me? It’s high school. No one understands Shakespeare in high school.
T: I really don’t . . .
IK: Thanks a lot doctor. See you again tomorrow. Mornings are best for me.
T: In light of . . .
IK: . . . the incredible progress here this morning? I agree. Ten minutes a day wouldn’t kill me. See you in the morning.
T (noticably depressed): Please see the receptionist on your way out.