Is a bit unconventional. It comes from the current novel on my bedside. I’m well behind the schedule, but thoroughly enjoying the slog. This week’s profile comes from pages 68-78 of Infinite Jest. It’s a dense short story – recounting a depressed patients visit with a doctor – though I look forward to not understanding how it fractally plays into the rest of the book.
Anyway, a passage:
She rolled an eye up at him for a long moment, sighed meaningfully, and rolled and rose. Katherine Ann Gompert probably felt that here was yet another psych-ward M.D. with zero sense of humor. This was probably because she did not understand the strict methodological limits that dictated how literal he a cdoctor, had to be with the admits on the psych ward. Nor that jokes and sarcasm were here usually too pregannat and fertile with clinical significance not to be taken seriously: sarcasm and jokes were often the bottle in which clinical depressives sent out theri most plangent screams for someont to care and help them. The docotr – who by the way wasn’t an M.D. yet but a resident, here on a twelve-week psych rotation – indulged this clinical reverie while the patient made an elaborate show of getting the thin ipillow out fro munder her and leaning it up the tall way gainst the vare wall behind the bend and slumping back against it, her arms crossed over her breasts. The doctor decided that her open display of irritation with him could signify either a positive thing or nothing at all.
Kate Gompert stared at a point over the man’s left shoulder. ‘I wasn’t trying to hurt myself. I was trying to kill myself. There’s a difference.’