First of all, sorry about yesterday. I got dejected about something, and when I get like that I dig myself a little hole of sadness. Most people would sit there for a little while, then climb out and brush themselves off. I get out by digging my way right through to the other side of the world.
So don’t feel sorry for me, this was not a depressive episode, this was a silly man in a bad mood.
And now to this morning. My psychiatrist looked me straight in the eye. “Have you ever had Molly Paxon?” he asked.
This was taking his level of questioning up a notch. Has he espoused Freudianism? Was he just being nosy? Were we going to swap stories? Was he offering to set me up on a date?
Anyway, I haven’t, I’m sure I’d have remembered.
“No,” I said, slightly more wistfully than I’d intended.
It turns out that he was talking about something called Molipaxin, the latest drug that I am to add to the table of tablets that fight on my behalf against the problems of the world (it’s no wonder I’m thin, there’s no room in my stomach for food). This one is to try to cure my sleep problem, where I have no problem in going to sleep each night but wake about every forty minutes or so for a few seconds, every single night. As a result I am permanently mentally exhausted, and we feel that this does not help my derealisation.
He checked to make sure it wouldn’t clash with any of my other meds and then turned back to me. “There is only one known side-effect,” he said, “and it only affects one man in ten thousand. You may end up with a permanent erection.”
Molly sounds like quite a girl.