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So, you think you have a terrible job? Try being a psychiatrist ... psychologist ... whatever the degree on the wall says I am. I never could figure out the difference between the two. All I know is, I got online, figured out where to send the check, and a few days later, received my degree in the mail. I didn't even have to study, which is a good thing*since I failed high school.Getting my degree was the easy part. Work, on the other hand, was a completely different animal.*Talk about an eye opener!*I had no idea I would be dealing with a bunch of*crazy people. Problems, problems, problems!*That's all they talk about. They think they have problems? They should sit in my chair and listen to the stuff I have to suffer through day after day. They hate their jobs, their*wives or husbands left them, nobody cares about them and so on.The worst are the ones with "Daddy Issues." They go on and on and on about it like it's the one and only thing keeping them from having a good life."News flash! Your life is crap, regardless!"I can't tell you how many times I felt like saying that. Honestly, I don't know why I keep doing this ... actually, I do ...*Daddy needs a new boat. Just to be clear here, I'm talking about myself and not my own father. Who cares if that prick gets a new boat or not. That's not an actual question, just a statement. Nobody cares!Then there are the suicidal patients, always talking about ending it all.*The temptation is to help them ... with the suicide, I mean. Of course,*I don't. That would be unprofessional and with the cost of boats, counterproductive.*So I slave on, pretending to care about people I don't care about, just to collect a paycheck.One of the ways I get through it is to just pretend to be listening. I nod my head every now and then, which, incidentally, also helps hide the fact that I was falling almanbahis şikayet asleep, which happens quite a bit ... actually all the time. Then I just give some standard advice and*trick them into thinking everything will be okay*before setting up the next appointment to help them to continue to not get better.*Another way I get through it is to guess what their problem is before they tell me. I've gotten pretty good at it, once I know their profession. For instance, I guessed, correctly, that a patient who owned a dating service was having trouble getting dates himself. It wasn't a hard guess. He was uglier than sin and, no, I didn't tell him that. I just handed him a mirror. No words were necessary. And yes, the mirror did break.When it comes to professions, the two absolute worst, when it comes to problems,*are teachers and psychia ... psycholo ... con artists. It's pretty hard to guess their problems*wrong, because both*complain about everything. I actually had one teacher complain*that she didn't have enough money*to fix her car. Here I am, with no boat, and she's complaining about not being able to fix her car? I should have double billed her for that session.*As for my fellow con artists? What can I say? They complain about having to, endlessly, listen to their patients complaining about how they hate their jobs, how their wives or husbands left them, how nobody cares about them or have "Daddy Issues," all the while pretending to care about people they don't care about, just to collect a paycheck. I hate having to listen to that. You would too, but since you're not in my chair, you'll just have to take my word for it.Which brings me to yesterday and a new patient, Dr. Meadows. Great! Another one of "us." I certainly was not looking forward to this session and things started looking worse when she almanbahis canlı casino began talking about a patient of hers, a teacher.*Great! The two worst professions, all bundled up in one session. Could it get any worse?**I was just starting to get into my head nodding routine when I almost jumped out of my chair. Did I just hear that? I asked Dr. Meadows to repeat herself.*"A seventeen-year-old girl," she responded.*Okay, so she didn't say what I thought she said. But it does explain why I heard, "firm, ripe tits."*I asked her to start over again, "just to make everything clear."*She took a deep breath and started over. "As I said, Eve*...""That would be the teacher?" I asked.Dr. Meadows nodded. "Eve*told me she gave her students an assignment*to write about what they did over the Summer break. It was mostly just an exercise to measure their writing skills. She really didn't care about what they did over the Summer. Most of the stories were boring anyway. But then she read one from a new student, a seventeen-year-old girl.""Her name was Amanda. Her story wasn't about traveling or*family get-togethers and such. No, her story was much, much different.""How so?" I asked, almost wishing I hadn't."Hers was a story of sex ... sex in graphic detail. An uncontrollable*urge that started when she met a young woman ...*a teacher of hers from her previous school. Amanda was attracted to her instantly and constantly fantasized about her,*but somehow kept it to herself, all the way through the school year.*It wasn't until the Summer break and a chance meeting in a secluded area*on a*beach, that Amanda found herself with a chance to have her fantasies realized."*I admit, for the first time, I actually was interested in what a*patient had to say. It was at that point, my receptionist buzzed me and told me another almanbahis casino patient, Mr. Green, was in the reception area and needed to talk to me."Not now!" I shouted."But Mr. Green says he wants to kill himself.""So what's the problem?" I answered. "Give him a gun and send him on his way."I know, I know. What was I thinking? Certainly not the smartest thing to say. It's just going to take a little longer to buy the boat, is all.After the noise from all the sirens died down, I asked Dr. Meadows to continue."Amanda wanted to work on her tan, but didn't feel comfortable exposing her pale skin to strangers. She found a spot on the edge of the beach and laid down on her towel. With the warm Summer sun beating down her, Amanda began to drift off to sleep and didn't even notice the other young woman who picked out a spot just a few feet from her. For some reason, Amanda opened her eyes, and couldn't believe what she was seeing. It was Miss Hollings, the teacher she fell so hard for.""She was wearing sunglasses and had on a long,*loose-fitting dress,*which she quickly removed, revealing the tiniest string bikini Amanda had ever seen. After spreading her towel on the sand,*she laid down on her stomach with her head facing in the other direction. This meant Amanda could safely look at Miss Hollings without having to worry about being caught. Or so she thought. So focused was she on Miss Hollings nearly naked body, she didn't notice she was now being looked at, until ...""Excuse me.""The words startled Amanda and brought her attention back to Miss Hollings' face, who was looking back at her.""Could you put some lotion on my back, please?""Amanda tried to answer, but for some reason, the words wouldn't come. So she nodded her head and got up and walked over. Miss Hollings didn't appear to recognize Amanda, even after handing her the bottle of lotion, probably thinking she was just another young woman on the beach. Amanda thought about telling her who she was, but for some reason, decided to wait. She then got down on her knees beside Miss Hollings and squirted some lotion on her back."