Friday, first of September two-thousand-seventeen
Let's talk about false identities, Mr.
Bibble.
Oh, please, call me Bromford, Kate.
I think we talked about this, Mr.
Bibble. We will keep this perfectly
professional. You are not Bromford
for me and you will not call me Kate.
And not Mrs. Hudson because you
are not my landlady.
What was that?
Never mind, dear. I am your landlady,
not your housekeeper.
What was that all about?
Doctor Kate Hudson, my one and only and favourite psychiatrist is looking and acting very strict today. She is more than formal and kind of cool since she wrote her doctoral thesis. And I mean cool in a cold and emotionless sense not in the cool way. Her knotted but still curly blonde hair gives her that awkward governess touch. Her big black-rimmed glasses do not make things better. And she is taking notes on that clipboard. Who is using clipboards these days?
I didn't get her last question because my mind and my eyes were wandering to that enlarged Rorschach picture behind her at the wall. Stereotypes all around me.
Back to business, she says. We are having a session here.
Yes, I know. This is not a date.
We wanted to talk about fake
personalities.
No, you wanted to talk about that.
Split personalities?
Boring!
OK, our weekly hour is over. See you
next Friday.
What am I doing here?
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