I remember when I was younger I wanted to write more, it was a daily thing. Youth has that obsession with vanity and perception. Image. It's hard to admit that my professional life kind of takes the priority. Now it's all about the thinking brain, the executive function, and it's like the creative brain is only "when I have no other work to do" or on vacations like this one. Like debrae noticed "my creative chakra is blown out". What she must have meant is the literal "creation" that I do every day for my students, in my lesson and my fucking worksheets and tests that I make up for them.
I had my physical yesterday. She had me strip down (only to sort of feel my breasts from over the medical gown??) and listen me coughing? Was that necessary? So that I had to answer all of her questions in my unshaved legs and socks. She has a very *professional* bedside manner which comes off as very efficient, sparkly, while also letting me know that any pause I make in my speech or "um" as I go to formulate a question are probably delaying her in her schedule, and also I'm not the one who went to medical school. I wanted to talk about why I wanted to try an antidepressant again, but I know that if I went too far into that she doesn't have the time or interest to deal with that.
I think it's time. I've been selling myself the "I'm an au naturel type of girl" and declined pills OR therapy OR accupuncture OR whatever else. So I'm doing nothing to manage my growing anxiety and depressive funk. Plus I'm looking for other things in my life to change too. Just want to feel happier and that I have more energy to do things.
Anyway, she gave me a Rx so here we go again.
When the nurse asked a few questions, I felt the urge to cry. When someone asks you how you are and then suddenly you feel vulnerable and realize that you aren't well. She asked me if my 5-HTP is working. I laughed and said "no" hahaha. First time I have said that.
I am developing a fantasy to go to Quebec city next summer. A life where I go away during the summers.
34 34 34. This number is looming a shadow over me. Why? Do I really want to be 30 pounds heavier and never sleep, struggle financially, etc.? Already? I walk around in a kind of "I know I'm old" cloud, it takes me longer to look good, my hair is out of style, my eye makeup probably makes me look older, to not have the bags under my eyes, I look exhausted because I am exhausted. Because I am 34. I've lived a lot.
Xmas is really weird this year, with my sister going through a horrible funk. My grandma will ask me the following 2 questions on repeat because of her dementia: "Do you have a boyfriend" "How old are you". I will hopefully answer just once and encourage my relatives to do the same. I guess I am a slow bloomer in terms of relationships. I am happy to accept that, the uncertainly is just a killer.
I am sitting here on 12/23, it is 60 degrees but raining, Nico is in his bed sleeping, Margot and candy are on the couch with me. It is a perfect day for hanging in my sweet new apartment, which is quiet and free of noisy neighbors or bad smells. I have vball tonight and will hopefully grab a bite at twisted soul later. I will maybe run into that girl Zoe and even try to have a new friendship with her!
I miss when I was a better writer. My readers must feel like it's one of those conversations where it's never the time to say "i gotta go" and so your friend just waxes poetic about the nothing that's going on in their life. Cuz I forget the pressing need to express or communicate.
Do you really need to know how it was awkward to wait forever to have my blood taken only to have that bitchy lady hardly even speak with me like I was a fellow human being. "Make a fist"... she sucks! But who cares?
