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My next door neighbor is a psychiatrist. In fact, two of my surrounding neighbors are psychiatrists, one is a therapist, and another is a social worker. I promise you that this is coincidence, not a mandatory stipulation by any authorities. Really.

So anyway, I have chronic back issues now that I'm old and grizzled, mostly because of some of the things that I did when I was young and stupid.

Not that I'm that much smarter now, I guess. In fact, I recently slipped on a polished wood floor while performing a dumb stunt, and slammed down flat on my back on the aforementioned floor.

My neighbor (the shrink) sent me an e-mail a couple of days later asking: > Are you feeling OK???

I know now that the proper response is probably something along the lines of "Yes, I'm feeling much better now, thanks." Which does happen to be the truth.

As a public service, I can tell you that the response that a psychiatrist apparently does NOT want is:

   Yes, I'm feeling fine, thank you.  The flying warthogs haven't  
   bothered me for days, now.  The U.N. is still spying on me, of  
   course, but I'm managing to thwart them from Finding Anything  
   Out (if you know what I mean, and I think you do) by changing  
   the stone in my secret decoder ring at random times every day.   
   And I really think I've got The Impulses under control this time.   
   I believe that the secret is my not ever eating anything colored 
   red or orange.  So yes, I'm doing fine, thanks. 

I think that the moral of this little story might be: Never try to play head games with a professional psychiatrist who's been practicing for something like 30 years. In retrospect, that seems so obvious now.

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