Freud’s Pipe

In the middle of a tedious, exhausted rush to meet deadlines, I closed my tired eyes for a minute, and suddenly realised that I can recite perfectly, from memory, the losers’ verdicts from the non-Portia boxes in the Merchant of Venice.

(You know, the ones that mock you most cruelly for your absence of analytical skills and the ability to choose wisely, and sentence you to a life of ridicule and celibacy as punishment?)

Sigh. I am an amateur pyschologist’s most luscious dream.




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