This storm season of 2012 started with a bang but then rapidly fizzled into a pathetic whimper. Now summer is here, and with the mid-levels heating up and dewpoint depressions widening to the point where one needs binoculars in order to see the cloud bases, I’m sensing the onset of Supercell Deficiency Syndrome (SDS).

I hate that feeling. Half the time I want to curl up in a dark corner like a giant pillbug of despair, and the other half, I want to go out and beat the tar out of the first stupid simile I encounter and then run naked through a funeral parlor. SDS is not a pretty thing, and mine does not improve as I get older.

So this year I’ve decided to meet the malady at its onset with aggressive therapy. Today I had my first session. As you can see from the following transcript, it went beautifully.

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Psychiatrist: Okay, Bob, I’m going to show you a series of images, and I want you to tell me what each of them reminds you of.

Me: A tornado.

Ps: All of them collectively remind you of a tornado? How do you know? You haven’t seen any of them yet.

Me: Nevertheless, they remind me of a tornado.

Ps: All of them?

Me: Try me.

Ps: <Hrrummph!> … Very well, let’s proceed. [Shows me a large black blob on a sheet of white paper.] What does this look like to you?

Me: A tornado. Didn’t I tell you? A niiiiice condensation funnel lowering into the middle of a great big grassland, with really cool suction vortices swirling around its periphery and…

Ps: Yes, yes, that will be fine, Bob. Now what about this image? [Shows me another blob. I don’t know why he’s asking. This one is clearly…]

Me: Wow! AWESOME wedge! Where was that? Is that Manchester? Man, I wish I’d been there!

Ps: Most of my clients see a butterfly.

Me: Yeah, well, most of your clients are several boogers shy of a sneeze. Dang, what a monster!

Ps: [Arching one eyebrow and chuffing thoughtfully on his pipe.] This promises to be an interesting session. [Shows me yet another blob.] Don’t tell me you see a tornado in this too?

Me: Stovepipe. Plus some really nice structure, very impressive. That is one wild-looking tail cloud! Where are you getting this stuff from, anyway? Hey, wait a minute … that looks like one of Mike Hollingshead’s shots from Hill City. I hope you got his permission.

Ps: I don’t know who Mike Hollingshead is, and this is not a photograph. It’s a Rorschach inkblot, and I don’t understand how you’re seeing so much detail in it.

Me: [Chuckling.] I’ve made it my business to notice the details, Doc. For instance, looking at this next image, which is clearly a nice elephant’s trunk, I can see a clear slot wrapping nearly all the way around the funnel. The tornado is in the process of occluding–see how it’s tilting?

Ps: [Leaning in for a closer look.] I’m trying. Hmmm … yeah, I think so. Kind of.

Me: It’s getting set to rope out. Another minute or two and it’ll be gone–and meanwhile, keep your eyes peeled for another circulation to start forming right about where–hmmm …

Ps: What?

Me: We’re in kind of a bad location, Doc. I think we need to reposition.

Ps: Bob, we’re in my office and it’s a beautiful day outside. There’s absolutely nothing to worry about.

Me: But …

Ps: Now, what do you see in this next image?

Me: Looks like the same storm, only a couple minutes later. The edge of the meso is right overhead and a cone is starting to drop. Doc, I really think we should …

Ps: [Smiling at me sagely. I hate it when people smile at me sagely.] Bob, trust me, we’re fine right where we are. Repeat after me: “I am not out in the field chasing storms. I am in my therapist’s office. There is no storm. I am perfectly safe.”

Me: There is no storm. I am perfectly safe. But Doc …

Ps: Perfectly safe, Bob. Just tell yourself that. You need to replace your negative self-talk with positive affirmations. Now, let’s take a look at this next … hey, what happened to the sunlight? All of a sudden it’s pitch black outside.

[The sound of a mighty wind swells up out of nowhere, rapidly intensifying to a deafening roar. The windows shatter. One wall rips away, revealing a millrace of debris blasting through the street. A cow flies across the room and a combine crashes through the ceiling, landing directly in front of Doc’s desk. A playful little vortex finger snatches away his toupee. Then, just like that, the pandemonium ceases and all is still except for the clatter of errant pieces of lumber falling to earth.

Doc is still sitting in his chair, wrapped around with pink insulation. His eyeglasses are crooked, his pipe has been replaced with a large cigar, and there is a wild look on his face.]

Ps: What the hell … what the bloody hell?!!

Me: I tried to tell you.

Ps: But … but …

Me: Doc, this has been a great session! I can’t tell you how much better I feel already. I never thought that just a few minutes with you could make such a difference.

Ps: But …

Me: You, sir, are a genius, that’s all. A genius! I hope we can have lots more sessions just like this one.

Ps: *%@#!!!!

Me: Could you repeat that for me, Doc? I want to write it down–it’s pithy and I’m sure it’s valuable. Wait, never mind, I recorded our whole session so I can review it later.

Well, time’s up and I’ve got to get to another appointment. I’ll just clamber over the remnants of your office and be on my way. But I’m going to call and schedule another session with you as soon as you’ve got your clinic rebuilt. Good luck with that, by the way. Yeesh, what a mess!

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That was just a few hours ago. I felt so depressed when I walked into my session with the doc, but now I feel great! It’s amazing what a good therapist can accomplish in just a single visit, and I can hardly wait for my next appointment. I have a hunch, though, that it may not be for a while.