Between watching Game of Thrones marathons with friends and catching up on my Netflix queue, I haven’t accomplished much so far. But I did start 3 non-fiction books – one written by a psychiatrist. So far, I’m not liking it very much. Here’s a summary:
Book: “As a Harvard-trained psychiatrist, I knew instantly that there could be possible medical reasons behind the psychosis of this woman in the Harvard clinic. They taught that at Harvard, incidentally, which is where I went for residency.”
Me: Oh, hold on – wait – I’m sorry, I didn’t catch where your residency was. Come again?
Friend: … AP, are you talking to your book?
Me: … A little, yeah.
Book: “So anyway, back in my Harvard residency, at Harvard -“
Me: OH, C’MON.
I also read half of a Freud dream analysis book, which was a lot less dry than I would’ve guessed – and for at least a couple chapters, I felt good about that.
But then he started explaining how his dreams come from his everyday life. Along the lines of: “I was reading Theocritus in the original Greek last week while sampling canapes at my friend’s private island north of Scotland, when a woman walked by with an umbrella, which reminded me of the famous 14th century oil painting by a French master -” and then he inexplicably says a bunch of French phrases and concludes, “which explains why, in my dream, I was wearing a top hat made of glass.”
and I’m like… “Yes. Yes, of course, Freud. Clearly.”
But even after all that, once I’ve stuck with him through 50 pages of obscure references and backhanded brags, he concludes the dream analysis by saying “Sadly, it’s personal, so I can’t tell you what it actually meant. But trust me, it was extraordinarily insightful.”
So I gave up on Freud and the Harvard-trained psychiatrist from Harvard (who works at Harvard) and instead watched the first episode of iCarly – a show that’s probably best watched while being either a 14 year old girl or drunk .
Due to one of my many personality defects, I liked it.