We don't make people lie down on a couch anymore while sitting behind them. That's a myth.

I hate this show. I hate it more than Helix and The Dome put together. My husband is making me hate-watch it with him, though, just so we can make fun of something while we shovel late suppers before we exhaustedly drop into bed. This is the definition of angst, BTW.

Clinical psychologist here. It's more about what people think I do when I'm not on my job. I think they think I diagnose them even when I in a casual setting. And my absolute favorite trope is that people think I went to clinical psych because I have problems myself and wanted to figure out how to help myself. People…

I really really realllllly hope this movie does well — not merely because I'm rooting for the underdog here, but because it is an awesome, fantastic, amazing, beautiful movie.

I keep coming back here to write a reply, but I'm still so angry that I can't even be coherent. I've twelve levels of enraged. Maybe I can make more sense in the morning.

More likely, this speaks of the ego-syntonic nature of a personality disorder. Narcissists don't think there's anything wrong with them; they think there's something wrong with others.

Object relations explains narcissism, as well. The way I encapsulate narcissism to my patients is to suggest the failure of the primary caretaker to tolerate the normal narcissistic phase. Simplified, yes, but understandable. The selfobject concept that Kohut proposed is in line with the fear concept — especially…

I will always, at least mentally, correct typos, spelling, punctuation, grammar, and syntax; often, I will be that person who points out mistakes in comments. It's nothing to do with elitism. Rather, I feel a jarring sensation when reading mistakes, as if my brain is driving over speed bumps too fast. It might be my…

The Earthsea Trilogy, back when it was a trilogy.

I finished reading "Lehr, Rex" (in Rich Horton's new Space Opera), a clever take on King Lear, only last night. Rest in peace.

You know how, when you walk into a room and people have already been conversing about a topic with which you're not familiar, you get a weird sense of confusion and disorientation? That's the entire zillion years of Doctor Who for me.

"What are the voices in my head?" I'm quite sure that I alarmed my clinical psychologist father, but I was two years old, and was just discovering that I had cognition.