Life’s a hoot, you know it?
I read an article in the Wall Street Journal wallstreetjournal.com this morning (Tues. Oct. 18) about the difficulties of finding just the right therapist. The Journal article titled, Help Wanted: A Good Therapist by Melinda Beck,said, “By some estimates, one quarter of the U.S. population has some kind of diagnosable mental illness.”
But most of us – us other people – apparently don’t know we have a problem or think we can’t afford a shrink or are too stigmatized by the idea of seeing a “shrink,” so that we don’t even look for one.
Big mistake says the Journal. The article reported how one woman found a therapist who actually believed, “she could have both a profound spiritual experience and bipolar disorder.” QUE?! Of course the woman’s therapist prescribed drugs for her problem - of course. Duh.
It’s sad that so many people apparently need therapy. I’m currently in Las Vegas with my wife while she attends a training class for her work. I get to play while she studies all day. Not a bad deal. Poor Sam had to stay at a kennel this week though, but it’s the one where he attends daycare, so he likes it there. But I miss the little booger.
Anyway, I swear I’m seeing a lot of those people who need therapy right here in Vegas. I mean, isn’t that why a lot of them come here? Gambling, drinking and attending shows temporarily take their minds off their troubles. Of course when they get home not only do their troubles return in spades, their woes are magnified by what they did in Vegas, and believe me, not everything you do here stays here.
Sadly, many people take up residence in Vegas and wind up playing some kind of musical instrument on the street to make money. One guy I saw was so drugged out, whatever he was trying to play on his accordion wasn’t anywhere near to being music. A woman outside of Starbucks had laid her head on a table and was fast asleep – like she hadn’t slept in a week. Maybe she hadn’t eaten in a week either.
Because people are so hell bent on shucking their troubles without seeing a therapist, I did not see any sign that Las Vegas was suffering from the current economic downturn. Everywhere – and I mean everywhere – I went yesterday (which was on a Monday), there were long lines of people checking into the hotels, buying drinks and gambling. And it was like that from 8 a.m. until 10 p.m. when I crawled into bed. It’s sad too, because this city is schlock, pure schlock. Everything here is phony.
Anyway, I’ve said my piece. I think I’ll go lay by the pool now in the 90-degree heat (which is a heckuva lot warmer than the 50+ I left at home) and drink a strawberry/banana daiquiri. Everywhere you look they have these machines that dispense different flavored drinks. I may be a total mess – psychotically speaking – when I return home, but if I drink enough daiquiris and do enough pool time ala Jimmy Buffet, I should be fine.
Ciao bambinos (I say ciao because later this week I plan to ride the gondolas in the fake Venetian canals).
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