It is no surprise to any one who has read more than one of my blog posts or knows me personally that I detest my studies. I love the subject, but hate the competitive, stressful atmosphere. And if ever I do pull myself through it and get myself that wretched clinical psychologist’s diploma, it is thanks to fantasies like these.
I enjoy likening myself to Sherlock Holmes in my future work.
My profession – the solving of the problems of the mind. My tools: knowledge, intuition, daring and creativity. My passion: unusual characters and understanding the very depths of human nature.
A patient enters. I tell them that if any one can fix them in our country, it is probably me. But I cannot do my work if they withhold information and deceive me to save face. And if I detect it, I shall sulk like Holmes and send them packing.
And then, on some rainy days, I shall moan about the dull problems the majority of patients have. All those marital troubles that are pretty much identical, and the hordes of anxiety suffering women. I’ll smoke my pipe and long for an exciting, unique patient. A real case! Nothing predictable and ordinary. A personality unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.