Last week, on Leave It To Dawson: Pacey finds out that his boss/mentor/entre-to-the-love-that-dare-not-speak-its-name Danny is an adulterer; Jen discovers that Charlie and his abs are running around on her; Dawson pants and heaves and has panic attacks; Joey makes sympathetic faces, but the look in her eyes makes it clear that she's cold and dead inside.

Down in good old Capeside, Dawson pays a visit to his Kindly Yet Crusty family doctor for a little checkup. Doc tells the Head that his blood tests and whatnot are fine, and Dawson seems ready to leap off the examination table and skedaddle on home, but thinks better of it and mentions his panic attacks. Well, he mentions what I have diagnosed as his panic attacks. As a hypochondriac, I'm quite gifted at diagnosing my ailments and the ailments of others. Seriously, I diagnosed my roommate's appendicitis and my cube-mate's kidney infection. Then I drove them to the ER. The many years I spent reading The Mayo Clinic Health Book as a child (before my mother hid it from me, because I kept convincing myself that I had leukemia, or multiple sclerosis, or hemophilia) have finally paid off. And my skills are particularly suited to diagnosing fictional characters, because if I'm wrong, they won't actually die. Anyway, Doc listens to Dawson's symptoms, and informs him that his stress and grief over the Flash's poorly timed departure to the big ice cream truck in the sky are manifesting themselves physically. "Am I going crazy?" Dawson asks. Doc assures him that he isn't, but advises him to pay a visit to a certain psychiatrist in Boston anyway, in order to work through, you know, all the stuff that's making him break out into night sweats. Dawson protests that Boston is awfully far to travel for a doctor's appointment, and wonders if Doc could recommend someone closer to him. "Trust me, Dr. Weir is worth the trip," Doc says. I wonder if Dr. Weir is related to the Weirs in Freaks and Geeks. Actually -- hang on, let me do some math. Just a sec. One more minute. Go eat a sandwich while I add this up. One more sec. Got it! -- according to my calculations, Dr Weir could conceivably be Lindsey Weir, all grown up and in private practice. In Boston. Right? I mean, Kim Kelly's living with Joey! I'm reaching? Okay. Doc's receptionist makes Dawson an appointment with the exalted Dr. Weir for the next day, at 5 PM. "Thanks," Dawson says non-thankfully.