Of Diseases Incurable

 

"Well then, young man", said the old shrink,

Settling into his comfy old chair,

"What seems to be the problem then, eh...

Why do I sense an air of despair?"

 

"I don't really know, Doc",

The youth made reply morosely,

"My life's overflows with ennui

And the days pass so somnolently!"

 

"And why is that, do you think?"

Smilingly the shrink said,

"Is it your love life (or the lack of one),

Or does something else fill you with dread?"

 

"No, it's not that Doc... at least, I think not

All of that, praise the Lord, is so very fine,

I don't think it my health; nor my wealth

And it's neither food nor wine"

 

"Hmm", the shrink said musingly

"The answer is then completely clear,

Your career must be your ailment;

Is the office a place of toil and fear?"

 

"Oh no, I don't think so," said the youth,

Work is really too good to be true,

Numbers and charts and stats and graphs,

And really, that's all I ever do."

 

"Hmm", the shrink then said,

And this time his mood was sombre,

He thought he had identified the problem,

And the thought filled him with horror

 

Heavily did the shrink then sigh; in despair,

Finally he said, "Your case I cannot fix;

All else I could handle, young man,

But you seem to work in analytics!"