A Treatise Part Un

"Please, have a seat."
"Alright." I sat. The chair's arms were high, so my elbows rested at an uncomfortably obtuse-angled position from my body. The rich brown leather was cold, but the imposingly girthy chair warmly embraced me like a kindergarten teacher might embrace a child worried his mother wouldn't be coming back to pick him up.
The walls in the room were covered with degrees and awards adorned with overly formal handwriting and many-pointed gold stars. The frames were simple and matched the rest of the decor in the room, which was, so to speak, doctorly. A conservative colored wooden desk ran the half of the length of the wall to my left, on top of which ran a shelf covered in green and red and yellow folders overflowing with what looked like charts. On the black screen of the computer monitor was a small post-it note. Scratched onto it were a few words in illegible handwriting.
To my right was a bookcase filled with thick volumes gathering light dust. A few bookmarks poked their heads out of the top of each of them. On the second shelf to the bottom there was a stereo, but it was off, and the rigid digits of the digital clock stared me in the face without emotion.
The doctor sat opposite me in a simple wooden chair. He kicked off his shoes, which apparantly had been untied, and put his feet up onto the low-lying coffee table that seperated us. He had what must have been my chart in his hands, a yellow one, with just a few papers in it. He spent most of his time on the top page, then quickly flipped through the other three or four. He looked up at me.
"Well, I suppose I know what medications you're on and such, but I think before we can have a trusting relationship here, we should talk a little, build that trust."
His gray hair overflowed from his head and down in neat lines to form thick sideburns that stopped at the ear. Creases accompanied his eyes when he squinted or smiled faintly, which he seemed to do a lot, but they disappeared when his eyes were wide open. He wore a red sweater that seemed well-worn, gray slacks, and his socks were pitch black, but i could make out individual toes through the light fabric.
My eyes glanced quickly over to the digital clock, which had stayed where it was. It read 11:03.
I smiled quietly and nodded in agreement. My palms were sweating. I pulled my arms from the arms of the chair and let them fall on my knees. I tapped my fingers lightly.
"Is there anything specific you'd like to start with?" he asked. He looked straight at me. My eyes wandered to the arms of the chair surrounding me on two sides.
"Ahm...not really, not that I can think of."
He looked at me with the same look as before, but the corners of his lips lifted a tiny distance. The clock read 11:07.
A few seconds passed by drugingly. The doctor's patience annoyed me. I rolled my fingers into fists on my knees and slid my top and bottom teeth against one another.
"Well, I thought perhaps we should talk about..." At this point he pulled a pen out of the pocket in his shirt underneath his sweater and tapped the back end of it on the folder, which was now opened. "...why you're here."
I drew in my breath as my hearbeat started to quicken. I bit my tongue and tilted my head, and I visualized taking the folder, ripping it in two, setting fire to it, stomping it out, screaming to all hell, keying the doctor's car, walking all the way home, and taking the pills and swallowing them all in one vicious gulp.
"Alright," I said under my breath.