Ear­li­er this week, Rachel Shuk­ert blogged about Mad Men, Lenny Bruce style and her sta­tus as a Zion­ist secret agent. Her new mem­oir, Every­thing Is Going To Be Great: An Under­fund­ed and Over­ex­posed Euro­pean Grand Tour, is now available.

Hel­lo crazy peo­ple! It’s the dog days of sum­mer. The heat lev­el alone in your apart­ment would be enough to induce pan­ic, if the strange rash on your shin that won’t go away wasn’t already wor­ry­ing you and all your friends had mys­te­ri­ous­ly dis­ap­peared to their beach hous­es” and not invit­ed you, mak­ing your feel para­noid and exac­er­bat­ing your attach­ment dis­or­der. And do you know where your ther­a­pist is?

No!! She’s dis­ap­peared like the chil­dren of Hamelin, and you have no idea where she might be, apart from that strange guilty mur­mur of some­thing that sound­ed like Man­has­set” when you were cling­ing to her hand at your last session.

How can they do this to us? It’s not like they’re peo­ple, exact­ly. Why should they get a break from you? You don’t get a break from you! And what the hell are you sup­posed to do for the next three weeks?

Well, you’re in luck, because I’m here with my Top Ten Tips to Cope with Great Man­hat­tan Shrink Exo­dus of 2010. And I’m not even going to bill you.

1. Take 12-hour show­ers. In these over-stim­u­lat­ed times, the hum­ble show­er stall is the clos­est thing we have to an iso­la­tion tank. There’s a rea­son they are used to calm unruly prison inmates. Nobody can both­er you in the show­er, unless they are there to mur­der you, à la Psy­cho. But that doesn’t hap­pen very often.

2Call your moth­er. Is your mater­nal fig­ure of the What, you for­got you had a moth­er” vari­ety? Make her eat those words. She’ll always take your calls, and she has to lis­ten to what­ev­er nar­ishkeit you’ve got to dish out — it’s part of the non-ver­bal con­tract she signed when she allowed her­self to be insem­i­nat­ed with you. Don’t have a moth­er? Cul­ti­vate rela­tion­ships with your father/​literary agent/​spouse/​cat, and fail­ing any of those–

3. Call my moth­er. Out­side of New York City, ther­a­pists stick around through the month of August. My moth­er, Dr. Ave­va Shuk­ert Ph.D, of Oma­ha, Nebras­ka, stands ready to take your calls and your insur­ance information.

4. Retail Ther­a­py. It even has the word ther­a­py” built in. Sure, the plea­sure is short lived and you some­times throw up when you see your cred­it card state­ment lurk­ing in the mail­box and maybe even leave it there for a few days before you can bring your­self to open it, but a few hours in the sooth­ing womb of Bergdorf Good­man does the mind and the soul good. (When I go to Bergdorf’s, I like to pre­tend it’s my house, and all the oth­er peo­ple there are my ser­vants. My shrink and I have not yet dis­cussed this.)

5. Track down your shrink and his fam­i­ly. Show up at their vaca­tion house with your gold­fish­hang­ing around your neck in a Mason jar of water and refuse to leave until you have dri­ven your shrink crazy and you become the shrink.

6Drink. Heav­i­ly. And recon­vene with a whole new set of issues!

7. Find a ther­a­py bud­dy.” Got anoth­er friend in des­per­ate straits and need­ing their 50 min­utes on the couch? Take turns play­ing shrink and patient” and put all the ther­a­py lan­guage you’ve expen­sive­ly acquired over the past 15 years to good use. It’s sort of like play­ing school,” except with phar­ma­ceu­ti­cals and aban­don­ment issues (so it’s more like col­lege.”)

8. Go on vaca­tion your own damn self. It’s shock­ing, and it may seem impos­si­ble. But you can do it. Baby steps.

9. Con­vert to Chris­tian­i­ty. I’ve heard they don’t need ther­a­py unless real­ly bad things hap­pen to them. Maybe it’s a rumor, but it may be worth a shot.

10. No mat­ter what any­body says, don’t pub­lish your new book in August when your shrink is away. That is just tru­ly insane.

BONUS TIP: Make use of store­front psy­chics and palm read­ers. Yes, they are prob­a­bly char­la­tans. But they also tell you a lot of things you already know about your­self, and even with the pricey com­bo pack­age of heal­ing crys­tals, zodi­ac charts, and hav­ing your wal­let stolen, they still prob­a­bly cost less than one ses­sion on Park Avenue.

Rachel Shuk­ert has been blog­ging for MyJew­ish­Learn­ing and the Jew­ish Book Coun­cil. Read her new mem­oir, Every­thing Is Going To Be Great: An Under­fund­ed and Over­ex­posed Euro­pean Grand Tour.