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Saturday, November 13, 2004 · posted at 2:40 AM

Trapped in the Skinner Box. There was a point in my life when I very much wanted to be a psychologist, a therapist, a counselor to those in distress. I also at one point wanted to be a ballerina, a president and a superhero, but this psychology ambition actually had longevity past the days of four square and tetherball.

Becoming a psychologist just made sense. I like to listen, people like to talk. I've been told my taciturn personality and well-timed empathetic nodding is soothing. I can be such a good yes-woman, which would make me one of those well-liked, but more importantly, well-paid cheerleader psychologists.

On paper, the psychologist job description sounds perfect. You hear people's dirty laundry, you tell people what to do, you charge for having a conversation. You can start your own cult - minus the shrouds and black Reeboks. And who's not interested in human behavior?

Luckily before shelling out thousands of dollars for three letters after my name, I came to the realization that me being a psychologist would be as successful as an NYPD Blue star turned silver screen actor.

Top Ten List of my fatal flaws as a psychologist

One can only emphathetically smile and nod for so long before the neurons stop firing and the muscles fatigue.

Some people's lives or problems would inevitably be boring and hard to listen to during 60 minutes of couch time. "So today you went to the store. And bought strawberry jam. How did that make you feel?"

I like to live my life avoiding responsibility as much as I can. Your patients' screw-ups become your own and the last thing you want is Johnny to go jumping off a cliff not because everyone else did, but because his therapist told him to.

You can't leave it at work at the end of the day in a neat little stack of "to dos" at the end of the day. It follows you home and presents little nagging questions while you're watching Mischa Barton break down during a nice episode of "The O.C."

I can't stand the thought of every introduction resulting in, "Whoa Doc, so are you going to psychoanalyze me?"

I can be too opinionated. "You think tv is the devil? Screw you!" And I have poor impulse control. "Your parents never hugged you? No wonder you're screwed up!" Not a good combination.

I'm a horrible liar. "Is there any hope?" "Umm well, you know, people have different definitions of hope... Some ancient civilizations interpreted 'hope' as being neck-deep in s***."

I need immediate gratification. "What do you mean we haven't solved all your issues and fixed all your problems after one session?!"

Wait a minute... I don't like people!

My own life is too f***ed up for me to be in any kind of position to offer others advice.



	Saturday, November 13, 2004 · posted at 2:40 AM Trapped in the Skinner Box. There was a point in my life when I very much wanted to be a psychologist, a therapist, a counselor to those in distress. I also at one point wanted to be a ballerina, a president and a superhero, but this psychology ambition actually had longevity past the days of four square and tetherball. Becoming a psychologist just made sense. I like to listen, people like to talk. I've been told my taciturn personality and well-timed empathetic nodding is soothing. I can be such a good yes-woman, which would make me one of those well-liked, but more importantly, well-paid cheerleader psychologists. On paper, the psychologist job description sounds perfect. You hear people's dirty laundry, you tell people what to do, you charge for having a conversation. You can start your own cult - minus the shrouds and black Reeboks. And who's not interested in human behavior? Luckily before shelling out thousands of dollars for three letters after my name, I came to the realization that me being a psychologist would be as successful as an NYPD Blue star turned silver screen actor. Top Ten List of my fatal flaws as a psychologist One can only emphathetically smile and nod for so long before the neurons stop firing and the muscles fatigue. Some people's lives or problems would inevitably be boring and hard to listen to during 60 minutes of couch time. "So today you went to the store. And bought strawberry jam. How did that make you feel?" I like to live my life avoiding responsibility as much as I can. Your patients' screw-ups become your own and the last thing you want is Johnny to go jumping off a cliff not because everyone else did, but because his therapist told him to. You can't leave it at work at the end of the day in a neat little stack of "to dos" at the end of the day. It follows you home and presents little nagging questions while you're watching Mischa Barton break down during a nice episode of "The O.C." I can't stand the thought of every introduction resulting in, "Whoa Doc, so are you going to psychoanalyze me?" I can be too opinionated. "You think tv is the devil? Screw you!" And I have poor impulse control. "Your parents never hugged you? No wonder you're screwed up!" Not a good combination. I'm a horrible liar. "Is there any hope?" "Umm well, you know, people have different definitions of hope... Some ancient civilizations interpreted 'hope' as being neck-deep in s*." I need immediate gratification. "What do you mean we haven't solved all your issues and fixed all your problems after one session?!" Wait a minute... I don't like people! My own life is too f*ed up for me to be in any kind of position to offer others advice.	Recent Posts Can you hear me now? It's a big decision. It's t... From a strictly economic perspective, the market f... Anyanka: You trusting fool! How do you know the o... Free Pizza and Town Hall Meeting Fridays Cumulus ... See Lisa, instead of one big-shot controlling all ... Exothermic A chemical reaction between two substa... My Felicity season 3 dvds came today. I'm burstin... All neurons that will ever be present are present ... Old school My freshman year of high school I had ... Expiration date Today I told my boss wished to te... Morning news babie goose ryan bluemouse daves son dawntaught desiree diorama emily escadawg galveric high entropy invisible cube jepgato kyellow lilly mhuang mogbert nudream starfish + coffee verbivore Archives March 2004 April 2004 May 2004 June 2004 July 2004 August 2004 September 2004 October 2004 November 2004 December 2004 January 2005 February 2005 March 2005 April 2005 May 2005 June 2005 July 2005 August 2005 September 2005 October 2005 November 2005 December 2005 January 2006 February 2006 March 2006 April 2006 May 2006 June 2006 July 2006 August 2006 September 2006 October 2006 November 2006 January 2007 March 2007 April 2007 November 2008

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