If you’re going to try to get to the root of your emotional problems, telling someone else about them may not always be the best idea. Whether that person be a therapist or priest or doctor or a good friend, spilling your beans to anyone about your personal issues can turn out to be at best a slippery slope, and at worst, well, who knows? In my opinion, if you go to someone else in a situation like this, you’d have to be some sort of head case. No offense. Tell your best friend everything about youself? You do want them to remain your friend, right? Well then, zip it! You start blabbing about all of your weird hang-ups and proclivities and suddenly they’ll be spending a lot of time with an ill grandmother you never knew they had. You want to try confiding in a member of the clergy? I think you’d be better off going directly to the Big Guy Himself. Why waste your time with a middleman who might have more issues than a life-time subscription to National Geographic? So that leaves you with the last option, the health care professional, or shrink, as they use to be known in pre-pc days. I guess that would be okay, if you want to spend years and years of your life as the main character in a New Yorker cartoon. And I say, if you’re going to be part of cartoon cliche, why not go for the desert island? At least there you’d have plenty of time in the sun, and get to lie on a sandy beach instead of some musty old couch that hundreds of other nuts have rested their fat butts on. And, oh yeah, you wouldn’t have to talk to anyone.