“The patient exhibits a near obsessive compulsive drive to climb up the waterspout. However, with each attempt, he is thwarted by the rain,” she wrote in her log.
She had tried to bring to the patient’s attention that waterspouts are built for the sole purpose of “washing the water out” and that, perhaps, he should try and alternate route. But the patient insisted on perseverance and claimed that the waterspout was his Everest, his mountain of ice, and that he would continue to make attempts until success was his. The route to the roof, he said, made a difference.
She wrote, “Sisyphus?” in her log. Maybe the patient was punishing himself for some past guilty offence? But he insisted that is was not the case, that there was nothing in his past that needed washing out. The pursuit of the summit was in his nature, and the washing out served to heighten the potential for glory.
He blindly fixated on his goal: to be the first spider to free solo the waterspout. And who was she to judge? Perhaps he was obsessive compulsive, or even destructive. Or perhaps her wish that he was self-punishing was simply a uncreative categorization of his mindset, an effort to make her job easier.
Maybe he was the kind of creature who would achieve greatness, his deeds immortalized in song, while she would remain stuck in popular patterns and probabilities.