If Lucy Fell

I have nothing to say.
Don´t you think
that this whole process...

is about getting to
your feelings of ambivalence?

What I say isn´t important.
It´s what you say.

I´m sure that´s what you think,
but I have nothing to say...

and I think we´re out of time.
All right...
I might have something to say.
Maybe you can say it next week.
Thanks, Lucy.
- You´re welcome.
- You´ve been a big help.

People with heads like balloons and
eyes in the middle of their faces?

Very nice.

A tough one for our expert over there.
Gauguin. Emily.

That gross guy who sent his ear
to his brother and then killed himself.

No, that was Van Gogh,
Gauguin´s friend.

Pair up, you little munchkins,
and start painting.

Come with me.
I called again.
I can´t believe I called again...

making my lover my authoritarian
parental scapegoat thus digressing...

in my analysis.
This clear, sort of
Edwardian mystical martyrdom that I...

Did you just yawn?
Am I boring you?
I´m so sorry my problems bore you, Lucy.
Yes, you do bore me, Ted.
This story bores me.

Every week for an hour
it´s the same thing: