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The Anti-Social Worker

by Alison O’Connor

I am most certainly not qualified to be a social worker. I have seen social workers nearly all my life, sat in their armchairs as I cried and they listened, or I just regaled them with tales of film trivia. But I could never be in the opposite chair myself, be the one holding the notepad and jotting down lines and ideas and useful tips for patients or be the one singing off on psychiatrist-prescribed doses of Prozac or Klonopin. I’m just not very sound of mind. I’ve been accused of calling myself crazy just for the love of the word, but I truly am: I’m bonkers. I’d blather on far too long about nothing and more than likely end up crying in front of my poor victim or patient impatiently resting on the settee before my red eyes and sniffling nose. I have oodles of reasons, actually, why I would be far from capable for that line of work.