My mental meltdowns are a lot like putting M&M’s—with almonds—in the microwave for 1:45 seconds on the baked potato setting: the reds, blues, yellows and greens mix together in chocolaty mess leaving the almond (the nut) exposed. Thank God I’ve got Dr. Pepper to listen to my thoughts, digest my demeanor, expose my lack of lucidity—just plain insist my travels through psychosis are likened to the crooked print of Van Gogh’s Starry Night framed neatly above his messy desk. He never mentions Gauguin’s Where Do We Come From? What Are We? Where Are We Going?  hanging by the stiff royal palm tree with six hundred lights that look like tiny boogers flung in a semi-random pattern—when lit.

Dr. Pepper is always hesitant to inquire of my state of mind when I enter his office. I don’t blame him: sometimes I speak in colors or exotic fruits; this time I decided to answer with bits of song lyrics. Variety in retort cuts the 6’7” psychiatrist down to a reasonable 5’ 10”. His grey humidity-affected hair gets convoluted; his smile censors his sensibility. Hey… after fifteen years of therapy there’s not much left to talk about. Plus, I've been influenced by too many of my own patients... bless their hearts.

Dr. P: How's retirement going?

Me: I been up, I been down. Take my word, my way around. I aint askin for much.

Dr. P: Can you elaborate?

Me: I’m a rolling thunder, a pouring rain. I’m comin’ on like a hurricane. My lightning’s flashing across the sky… You’re only young but you’re gonna die.

Dr P: Say again?

Me: She never mentions the word addiction, in certain company. Yes, she’ll tell you she’s an orphan after you meet her family.

Dr. P: Have you been online dating again?

Me: Save me, save me, save me from this squeeze. I got a big fat mama trying to break me.

Dr. P: Does this woman have a name?

Me: I got the story here, it’s hot off the press. Brace yourself now and take a deep breath… Grab a hold of something, hold on tight, Betty Lou’s getting’ out tonight.

Dr. P: Haven’t we discussed internet dating?

Me: I've paid my dues, time after time—I’ve done my sentence, but committed no crime. And bad mistakes, I've made a few. I've had my share of sand kicked in my face, but I've come through.

Dr. P: And this means?

Me: I want to know, have you ever seen the rain? I want to know, have you ever seen the rain, coming down on a sunny day?

Dr. P: H’mm a metaphor challenge. It’s sunny outside. Okay… I‘ll answer… no.

Me: Early one mornin' the sun was shinin', I was layin' in bed… wond'rin' if she'd changed at all, if her hair was still red. Her folks they said our lives together sure was gonna be rough; they never did like Mama's homemade dress—Papa’s bankbook wasn't big enough… Tangled up in blue.

Dr. P: I’m sensing from your intonations that perhaps rain on a sunny day is your way of saying you’re still dealing with depression.

Me: After midnight, we're gonna let it all hang down. After midnight, we're gonna chug-a-lug and shout.

Dr. P: Say what? Sobriety issues again?

Me: Just like California to make a fool of me. Steal the sideshow, burn the disco… Slide into the sea.

Dr. P: Are you serious? Tell me you’re having a sundowning moment.

Me: Well now home entertainment was my baby’s wish, so I hopped into town for a satellite dish; I tied it to the top of my Japanese car. I came home and I pointed it out into the stars. A message came back from the great beyond: There’s fifty-seven channels and nothing on.

Dr. P: Maybe you need a break from whatever you’re doing. What are you doing, might I ask?

Me: It's a thousand pages, give or take a few, I'll be writing more in a week or two. I can make it longer if you like the style, I can change it round and I want to be a paperback writer.

Dr. P: Just fifty-seven? Oh… disregard that statement.

Me: Fields are white in snowy spring and I can't remember the last time that I've seen her.  The highway is still cold and wet and I can't forget the way I had to leave her. And every passing day, she flickers and she fades… Is someone to help her when she falls from the heavens?

Dr. P: I confess to my confusion: perhaps we should schedule another appointment. You know... when the crazy train has returned to the station.

Me: And if your train's on time you can get to work by nine, and start your slaving job to get your pay. If you ever get annoyed, look at me I'm self-employed; I love to work at nothing all day.

Dr. P: Perhaps an analogy would be appropriate here. No forget it… you’re nuts. You talk in colors, exotic fruits, State Capitals, metaphors, anagrams and this… this… shit, I don’t know what it is.

Me: I live in my own mind. Ain't nothin but a good time. No rain just the sunshine. Out here in my own mind, I live where I can breathe. Ain't nothin but a cool breeze; nobody that it won't please…Out here where I can breathe.

Dr. P: You seriously flawed… wait a Freudian moment… I get it. That was a Lyle Lovett song. Let me see if I remember… oh yes: The long and winding road that leads to your door, will never disappear, I’ve seen that road before. It always leads me here, leads me to your door.

Me: Got a good reason for taking the easy way out. Got a good reason for taking the easy way out – now—she was a day tripper, one way ticket, yeh… It took me so long to find out, and I found out.

Dr. P: Yes! Now we’re making progress.

Me: When I was a child I caught a fleeting glimpse, out of the corner of my eye; I turned to look but it was gone, I cannot put my finger on it now the child is grown, the dream is gone… And I have become comfortably numb.

Dr. P: Right back at you… Crazy…Crazy for feeling so lonely.  I’m crazy… Crazy for feeling so blue.

Me: Huh?

Dr. P: Doctor, doctor give me the news, I've got a bad case of lovin' you. No pill's gonna cure my ill. I've got a bad case of lovin' you.

Me: Well... There must be some way out of here, said the joker to the thief. There's too much confusion, I can't get no relief.

Dr P: Hah...! Ridin' up an' down Broadway on my old stud, Leroy. And the girls say: Save a horse, ride a cowboy. Everybody says: Save a horse, ride a cowboy…

At that point, Dr. Pepper’s receptionist interrupted his serious ass slapping with a plead to answer an emergency call on line two.  I boogied… Another Monday mental meltdown discussed on a Tuesday afternoon was billed: co-pay excluded.  As I left the office and slowly descended the stairs, I smiled as I heard Dr. Pepper's tinny baritone voice: 

Bright light city gonna set my soul

 Gonna set my soul on fire

Got a whole lot of money that's ready to burn,

So get those stakes up higher

There's a thousand pretty women waitin' out there

And they're all livin' devil may care

And I'm just the devil with love to spare

Viva Las Vegas, Viva Las Vegas