Reading Huck Finn again, backwards

I tell my psychiatrist I want to try something new and analyze him, rather than he analyzing me, that I'd had a dream and in my dream I was a psychiatrist.

"I'm not trying to hurt your feelings," I say, "that's the last thing I want to do."

By the time we come to the end of the session my psychiatrist is weeping. When his great primordial sobs cease, he dries his eyes and thanks me for almost breaking through emotional barriers that heretofore had been keeping him from achieving fulfillment and happiness in his life.

"Our time's up," I say.

He asks if he can make another appointment, at the same time next week.

I say, "yes, of course," and confirm his billing address.