“Hello, I’m Dr. Finkler. Do you prefer to sit down or lie on the couch?”

“I think I’ll lie on the couch, doctor.”

“Make yourself comfortable. Not everybody feels comfortable on the couch, but you seem to like it. Please remind me your name.”

“Life.”

“Life what? What’s your last name?”

“I have different last names. Life Oftheparty. Or Life Isshort. Life Anddeath. Or my favorite: Life Isjustabowlofcherries.”

“That’s a long one. Must be hell on an email address.”

“That’sthestoryofmy Life. You see, Doctor, sometimes Life is my last name. Leadadog’s Life, Thisisyour Life, and even Ihatemy Life.”

“That’s a lot of names, son.”

“That’s what I want to talk to you about, Doc.  I think I have multiple personality disorder.”

“How so?”

“I behave in so many different ways, I don’t recognize myself sometimes. No one single personality sticks, Doc. Sometimes I’m sunny, sometimes I’m blue, sometimes I’m stormy. Sometimes I’m malaria that kills  thousands of children and sometimes I’m a winning sweepstake ticket. I don’t know who I am, Doc. Neither does anybody else.”

“Of course they know who you are. Look at how often they say: That’s Life!”

“But what’s life, Doc? I’m everything under the sun, only I’m the sun too. It’s too much for me, Doc. Too many things, too many varieties. You should hear the voices I hear!”

“You hear voices? Good. Which ones?”

“Every single one, Doc. Thunder and static, frogs croaking, snakes hissing, babies crying, locomotives chugging, babies crying, sinks gurgling, planets colliding, and Tibetan.”

“What’s your favorite?”

“Silence, Doc. What’s yours?”

“The scratching of a pen in a checkbook.”

“That’s one of my names, Doc.”

“What’s that?”

“Yourmoneyoryour Life. I can’t live like this, Doc. I need to be smaller, narrower. I NEED TO HAVE BOUNDARIES!”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why? You’re a psychiatrist!”

“What’s wrong with being everything to everybody?”

“It’s too much, Doc. I can’t handle it.”

“I must say, you do sound confused.”

“I’m confused? You should see the others, Doc. How would you like to show up and everyone just shakes their head, like they can’t believe what they’re seeing?”

“I guess I wouldn’t feel too good.”

“People always say that I’m too much for them. Too unpredictable, too unexpected, too bewildering. People want me to be different.”

“Different how, son?”

“Familiar, consistent, SMALLER!”

“Bigness is nothing to be ashamed of, Life. Look at LeBron.”

“I’m bigger than LeBron, Dr. Finkler.”

“Nobody’s bigger than LeBron, son.”

“I’m bigger than winning or losing. Bigger than Trump, bigger than Biden, bigger than the biggest tree, bigger than earth and heaven.”

“I don’t know about multiple personality disorder, but you do sound a little delusional.”

“I’m bigger than delusions, Doc, though I have to admit those come a close second. I talk in so many different voices I can barely understand myself. In fact, I think that’s the problem, Doc. I’m beyond understanding. People try and try to understand me and can’t. I’m always doing something nobody expected; from moment to moment I’m just one big surprise.”

“Like a birthday party?”

“Or like a pandemic. Nobody’s got a toolbox like mine, Doc.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

“I’m getting on in years, Doc. I’ve been around forever. Time to meet a nice girl and settle down.”

“A good idea!”

“Who’d want me? Who’d want to put her arms around me—buyouts and beaches, harvest moons and harelips, dolphins and doormats, greens and gorillas, French fries and Facebook, violets and viruses—”

“I get your meaning.”

“In fact, she can’t put her arms around me, Doc, that’s the tragedy.”

“And if it’s a he? Have you ever thought it might be—”

“He can’t either. And maybe we’re finally getting down to it, Doc. I’m unhuggable. I’m just too humongous. Beyond love, beyond hate, beyond compassion. Beyond hugs! Beyond anything! What I want to know, Doc: Am I beyond treatment, too? What do you think?”

“Nobody’s beyond treatment, son. Nothing’s bigger than pharmacology. You have a panic disorder, an anxiety disorder, you’re multi-polar, and since you’re so big you probably have an eating disorder. Do you like ice cream?”

“I LOVE ice cream.”

“I knew it, son.”

“Doc, I love everything. I hate everything. I am everything.”

“I’m adding narcissism to the list.”

“Can you help me, Doc? I want to finally be loved.”

“Doesn’t everybody? That’ll be $350 for today, and I’ll see you next week.”