Can I graduate

So apparently this post is going to be pretty picture heavy.

Yeah, so remember this post?  Where I said I graduated from my psychiatrist?

That was a nice thought!

I saw my PCP today.  Because I have PINKEYE!

And apparently a sinus infection.

Side note: If a nurse or MA or whoever cleans out your ear, and tells you to look at what came out of it?  DON’T DO IT.  And why in the world would she encourage me to look?

I’ve been various levels of sick for almost a month now.  Seriously, I’m so over it.

Oh yeah!  Let me come back from tangent land.  I also brought up the anti-depressant thing with her, since my Psychiatrist said she was confident the PCP could handle it from here.

Well, since I probably need to adjust the dosage, she can’t actually take over.  See, the dose that made my brain the happiest, made my butt very unhappy.  That’s right, I’m talking about poop.  Anyway, so I scaled back the dose, and my butt is happier, but my brain less so.  So.  I need to change something.  So I need another psychiatrist.  Got a list from Sid, and will look into it tomorrow.

Also asked my PCP for a prescription for massage.  Man, that was easy!  The next 10 massages are on insurance!!  *happy dance*

Which is a good segue into what Sid and I talked about today.

Basically, as soon as anybody (specifically cute boys) pay attention to me, my response is:

Quickly followed by

And thus, my brain was living on the hamster wheel about Tom, the flirty massage guy.  Basically I was obsessing–fantasizing, even, about taking control of the situation.  By trying to analyze every possible outcome, and plan how I would react.  Again with the analysis paralysis.  I was so concerned with trying to analyze the situation, figure it out, and then take control… I completely (read: deliberately) ignored the fact that I could very easily have a lot of control over the situation.

“Hey, Tom.  Are you flirting with me?”

Pffffffttttttttt, whaaaaaaaaaaaat?  Why in the world would I do the rational thing there?

Wait, wait.  More accurately I think it goes something like this:

Hmm, I hear hooves.  Are those Zebras?  Wait, moose?  Reindeer!  I don’t know, maybe an antelope?  No, I was right the first time, it’s a zebra!  …. Maybe I should record the sound of the hooves, and play it over and over again to figure it out.
“Hey, you over there!  Do you hear that sound?  Do you think it’s a zebra?”  Ooh, I know!  Let me ask Google: “do zebras live in this area?”

Obsessing is my high.  And my line is a lot fuzzier, because, as Sid put it, it’s not like I’m putting a drink to my lips, or a needle in my arm.


And now I need to sleep, because Emma is getting tubes in her ears tomorrow, at the plumber’s crack of dawn.


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