Weekend countdown

Blogger hasn't been allowing me to post recently, which has been strange.

But, in the past week, Wade finished his dissertation, which was extremely exciting!

For my part, I have been busy sublimating. Here ya go:

The Night Before Comps

‘Twas the night before Comps, and all through the town
Not a fourth year was emoting, not even a frown.

The position papers were printed and stapled with care
In hopes that the committees would prove to be fair.

The students were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of easy questions danced in their heads.

And Jeff with his catnip, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a late summer’s nap.

When out on the street there arose such a clatter
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The street lights of Oakland all of aglow,
Gave the luster of mid-day to objects below.

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But an analytic couch, and interpretations so clear.

With a little old Austrian, looking annoyed.
I knew in a moment it was the ghost of Sig Freud.

More rapid than eagles the diagnoses they came
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name.

“Now psychosis, now neurosis, now hysteria and obsession!”
“On Oedipus, on Electra, on intellectualization and projection!”

“To lie on the couch! To dream and tell all!”
“Now associate, associate, associate all!”

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with resistance, mount to the sky,

So up to the Clinic, the therapists they flew,
With the analytic couch, and Sigmund Freud too.

And then, in a twinkling, I remembered a dream,
With layers of meaning, or so it would seem.

As I sized up the couch, and was turning around,
Into the room Freud came with a bound.

He was dressed all in tweed, from his head to his foot
And his clothes were all tarnished with old cigar soot.

A bundle of Rorschachs clutched in his hand,
How he looked like a blank screen I don’t understand.
His eyes – how they twinkled! His dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

My reactions are transference, that much I know
But the beard of his chin was as white as is snow.

The stump of a cigar he held tight in his teeth
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;

He had a broad face and a little round belly.
That shook when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Interpreted my dream; then turned with a jerk,

Laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, from the armchair he rose;

He collected his payment, then wrote down a note,
And away he flew to meet Jung on a boat.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he flew out of sight.
“Happy Comps to all, and to all a good write.”