In this age of better living through chemistry, why isn't there a product that will do for your brain what Draino does for your copper pipes? I would love to just pour some, wait a bit, and flush . . . ahhhhhhh. All those smelly, half-rotted snarls and hairballs of pointless self-recrimination and flagellation whisked away into the cosmic sewer. But no, we only have substances that will allow you to cope with the stoppages while you're fishing around with the snake in the drain yourself.
Nice metaphor, huh? Ack, I'd forgotten how hard, and how much work, and how (pardon the pun) draining therapy is. I went to meet my potential (now confirmed) new shrink tonight and between that and he heat, I am toasted. I remember coming out of Christine's feeling like this: kind of reeling emotionally with that sense of disjointedness you get from putting a timer on your chorus of mememememememe. (Hmmm, interesting that the word meme shows up in that little word play too.) Right now, it's just getting the gerbil-wheel rolling again, the wheel I'm trying to get off of, so I'm trying to distract myself tonight with Pico Iyer and a cold shower, which I've come to take an odd pleasure in. I just hope this isn't as long and drawn out as the last go-round. I don't think it will be, but you never know.
The kind of scary thing that surfaced tonight was the depression lable. I'm trying not to wear that one right now, but I think it's there. It's not just the heat sucking the life out of me, or work. And that's something else to be unhappy about. God knows I've had enough crap to deal with during the past two years, but I really don't want to . . . what? Wear the lable? Admit I'm depressed? Feel like I've failed somehow in having to admit that? Hmmm, more food for thought.
But not tonight.
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