‘Look here,’ I said with some authority, ‘I’m neurotic as
hell and loaded to the gunwales with neuroses. Does the fact that I’m aware of
it mean I’m not loony after all?’
‘Don’t know,’ he replied, before dipping his rich tea
biscuit in his morning coffee and deliberating on the question: ‘Is Hermione
Granger a real person, a fantasy figure, or a being born of group projection?’
I left him sitting there in his office inside my head. He
has no formal qualifications, you know, but he’s the only one I can trust
because he’s the only one who knows me well enough to wrangle with my issues.
Employing a professional would be pointless.
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