conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me a plot for a book about Adler, Love, Uniform entitled I Love a Man in Uniform.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I Love a Man in Uniform (film): The film, a dark psychological drama, stars Tom McCamus as Henry Adler, a bank employee and struggling actor who finally gets his big break, being cast as a police officer in a television series.\nHowever, Adler begins to identify too closely with the sense of power and authority that comes with wearing the police uniform, takes to wearing it in public as if he were a real police officer, and gradually loses his grip on reality.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first five paragraphs for this book.. End with the sentence ' I couldn't get out of that waiting room fast enough.'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I Love a Man in Uniform
  I drove two hours each way to Warwick to keep up my appointments with Casey. She rested her pedicured feet on a hassock during our sessions. "The point isn't to avoid the pain in life," she told me. "Life is full of pain."
  I didn't need someone to point out what I needed to do. I needed someone to help me do it. Talk talk talk talk. I was so bloody sick of my days being nothing but an endless loop of misery and talk. I was sick of talking to Casey, who wasn't helping, and I was sick of talking to my husband who was trying to make me feel better but only made me feel worse.
  The weeks went speeding along. I'd been gone since April and now it was mid-July. Panic set in—I was losing precious time to this crisis and life was passing me by. Then I remembered something Casey had said during one of our sessions: "You have plenty of time to do whatever you want with your life," she said. "At this point, the only thing out of your reach is professional gymnastics." That, I had to admit, was worth $150 an hour to hear.
  The divorce papers sat folded up and unsigned on the living room table for weeks. I couldn't even look at them. Soon they were buried under magazines and junk mail. Mike and I barely talked on the phone because every time we did, he'd start giving me the Army officer pep talk, and I'd start to cry, feeling like a kid at the feet of a stern parent. But I begged him to wait for me, told him I didn't want to go through with a divorce, that I didn't know what I was thinking when I said I wanted us to split. I sounded insane and I knew it, but I also knew that I meant it: I did not want to lose my marriage.
  I've never been a "drugs are Jesus" type of person, but I thought maybe some antidepressants would help. I couldn't afford to pay out of pocket for a psychiatrist or for antidepressants, so I made an appointment at Keller Army Hospital at West Point. The receptionist referred me to family medicine. Internal medicine would've been better. The family medicine waiting room was full of little kids with runny noses and parents in their Class Bs. I felt like an island of broken in a sea of all these intact families. When the nurse called my name, I bolted up and followed her. I couldn't get out of that waiting room fast enough.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: At the tail end of the party the chief of staff brandished a humidor and hustled all the cigar enthusiasts to the porch for a smoke. He passed through the kitchen where I was sitting with a bunch of other wives. "Anyone want to come out for a cigar?"
  Once the chief was out of earshot, one of the other wives joked, "No, but I have a large Irishman you're welcome to."
  Her daughter, who was home from college, howled out, "Oh my God... Mom!" She cupped her hands over her ears. "Therapy! Therapy!"
  The wives stayed in the kitchen making noises about helping the hostess clean up. When I stepped onto the front porch, I saw the husbands, these masters of the military universe, enjoying a moment of quiet repose, the wintry lights of the Academy shimmering on the Hudson. Witnessing this richly deserved moment of leisure, I felt a sting, knowing that while I admire and enjoy the company of these men so much, with a single set of orders and a stroke of bad luck I could lose any one of them to a war. (Curiously, I rarely think this way about my husband. Denial-n-me? Oh yeah, we're tight.)
  But within that poignant tableau, I caught a glimpse of what might file down some of the harsh edges of the relationships between military wives: less ironsides coping, more chilling. In that moment, the women were laughing together in the kitchen, and the men didn't have anything to prove, to themselves or to each other. If officers are expected to model good judgment even in after-hours, I'd say they were setting a fine example, one that stressed-out wives would do well to follow. We deserve the chance to slip the traces of stoic propriety and relentless composure sometimes and let it all hang out.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: At the tail end of the party the chief of staff brandished a humidor and hustled all the cigar enthusiasts to the porch for a smoke. He passed through the kitchen where I was sitting with a bunch of other wives. "Anyone want to come out for a cigar?"
  Once the chief was out of earshot, one of the other wives joked, "No, but I have a large Irishman you're welcome to."
  Her daughter, who was home from college, howled out, "Oh my God... Mom!" She cupped her hands over her ears. "Therapy! Therapy!"
  The wives stayed in the kitchen making noises about helping the hostess clean up. When I stepped onto the front porch, I saw the husbands, these masters of the military universe, enjoying a moment of quiet repose, the wintry lights of the Academy shimmering on the Hudson. Witnessing this richly deserved moment of leisure, I felt a sting, knowing that while I admire and enjoy the company of these men so much, with a single set of orders and a stroke of bad luck I could lose any one of them to a war. (Curiously, I rarely think this way about my husband. Denial-n-me? Oh yeah, we're tight.)
  But within that poignant tableau, I caught a glimpse of what might file down some of the harsh edges of the relationships between military wives: less ironsides coping, more chilling. In that moment, the women were laughing together in the kitchen, and the men didn't have anything to prove, to themselves or to each other. If officers are expected to model good judgment even in after-hours, I'd say they were setting a fine example, one that stressed-out wives would do well to follow.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last two paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I owe my life to Victoria Britt, and I owe Linda Lavin a debt of gratitude for making my life worth living again. Bless you both for your good works.
  Finally, thanks to my family for their continued patience with my writing habit, and to the United States military family for doing what you do. Godspeed.