So Monday I look in the mirror and there’s a zit on my forehead. Not in the middle of my forehead. It’s not like a third eye. But it’s close, and I keep messin’ with it and pickin’ at it, and it gets bigger. Now I have this like, crater, in my forehead. Not in the center, though. Little to the left.

So I’m looking at this thing in the mirror and I remember that it’s Monday. I have a doctor’s appointment today. It’s with a psychiatrist. A shrink. That kind of doctor. And I’m thinking, I can’t go like this. I can’t go looking like this.

So I’m digging around for some of those little round Band-aids. And I’m not finding any little round Band-aids. There’s a box that’s almost empty, except for the torn wrappers from those little round Band-aids. Don’t know why I kept 'em. Note to self: buy small, circular bandages.

So I get out some pancake makeup. Natural beige. And I start spackling over this crater. I’ve missed my last two appointments. I have to go. No matter what I look like. Crater and all. I have to go.

So I go to the doctor’s office, and he starts to ask the same things he asks every time I see him. How’s my appetite. How am I sleeping. Am I having any thoughts of hurting myself. And before I can say “no”, before I can say anything, he goes, what’s that. He points with his middle finger, the way some people do. Points to his forehead. And he says, what is that.

So I’m trying to sort of slide casually by this question—to deflect, in shrink-speak—I’m a little embarrassed, frankly. I’d rather move on to the dream I had, where I’m wearing Roman sandals and riding a seahorse with Bernadette Peters. I mean, what’s that about.

So I’m trying to be witty, to deflect, and I say, Oh. That. Well no more do-it-yourself trepanations for me. No sir. I learned my lesson.

So I left the hospital Thursday, with enough Thorazine in me to stun a horse. I was there for three days, talking to little turkeys in pilgrim hats and drooling into a fruit cup.

I found out the hard way, shrinks don’t know from funny. Psychiatrists are singularly without a sense of humor. I can say with some authority, choose your words with care.

And my advice today would be, don’t pick at that.