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On my way to lunch today, I was almost run over by a doctor. That gives the surface impression of a good news/bad news story, but the doctor in this case was Doctor Research, so the best he could have offered in the way of help would have been a quick recitation of the incidence of hit-and-run accidents in Norfolk among white males aged 35-54 as he sped by. Fortunately, my lightning-quick reflexes failed to fail me and I took evasive action, feinting to the left, then to the right, causing him to plow into some anonymous people of no concern to either of us, and as he was wiping off his fender we had a pleasant conversation.

Okay, the great majority of the above story is open to interpretation, and reasonable people could differ, as they say. But I stand behind the basic facts of the story, and although Doc claims that he was only pretending to run me down, I saw the Urge To Kill in his eyes. It's a moment that will live in my mind, right next to the time I was in the shower at the Y and my therapist walked in. Nothing will change the dynamic of a therapeutic relationship like you and your therapist seeing each other naked. This one, unfortunately, is absolutely true.