I have a shrink.

I have a shrink!

I like it--I think.

He doesn't really

do much. Just

sits there. And blinks.

He asks me what

I did this week.

I say that I'm not sure.

He asks me how

I feel about that,

and I say I don't know.

He says: "Well is that

what you want?"

"I guess," I say,

and shrug.

He writes something

in his notebook,

looks up at me

and smiles.

"You're going to be

all right," he says,

and puts me

in his files.