Dive right in, the therapy's lovely

The therapist raises the idea of role play and its evident by the gratuitous rolling of eyes that role play is not for me. I can't be an easy patient: for a start, I am guarded, and not in that intriguing dark-secrets-lurk-beneath-the-surface way that marks a really good television drama; more in that "hello I'm Laphroaig and I am totally normal" sort of way, which is a bit of a barrier when you've chosen to receive therapy. My other issue is that I am far too polite, "what do you think about that?" he often asks to my pointedly interested although vaguely skeptical expression, as if he is the patient and I am the therapist trying to be encouraging.

"And of course your job is very demanding."
"Well, it was."
"And that leaves very little time for your personal life."
"Well, it did."
"And leaves you very tired."
"Well, I was."
"So perhaps we should look at your hours. What do you think about that?"
"Done that. Been there. Didn't help. Good idea though."

After a couple of weeks of disagreeing in a polite but mildly patronising way it began to dawn on me that I had a larger role in this relationship than acting as a psychological rubik's cube. Perhaps I'm supposed to help. This is not as easy as it sounds. While there's a definite narcistic appeal to whittering on about yourself constantly (blog, anyone?), like many other forms of self-pleasure it is considered impolite in company. There's also the disappointment of discovering that you're more day-time TV than classic mini-series.

"I think it might be ... my father."
"I see. Your father."
"Yes, resentment of my father."
"Which pop psychology textbook did you get that from?"
"Erm, one given to me by my mother?"
"Your mother? Christ, what is this, a quick tour of psychology cliches?"

It's hardly the dramatic tension of a Cracker interview, is it? Really, you've got to start ringing alarm bells when your own therapy bores yourself. Although, coming to think about it, being less interesting might be just what I need ...