Friday, January 22, 2016
My Office is for Pooping -or- Psychiatrist Wanted: Must Love Babies
Today sucks. Yup. I said it. Today sucks. It completely blows. I am just sitting here wallowing in self pity and I don't care who knows. I don't give a rat's ass. Why does today of all days suck. Because. My Gram died two weeks ago and I still haven't really accepted that, yesterday I found out that my psychiatrist of ten years will no longer be accepting my insurance in a month, a person who is supposed to remain impartial has proved to be totally and completely biased in my book, and my dogs pooped in the office. That last one is nothing new. They poop in the office on a daily basis. They think its their own person toilet. I included that one because having poop in your house that you have to clean up just kind of sums up my day. Oh, and we are apparently aren't going to see hide nor hair of a snowflake in the exciting Snowmaggedon of 2016. I wanted to stay tucked into my house as the snow fell down all around me sipping coffee and being productive. Instead I sit here with my eyes closed willing the world away. (Yes, I know I have depression.) I called the Hubs to tell him how upset I was about some of the days events and . . . nothing. No "awwww." No "poor baby." Nothing. That only added to my depression du jour. I want snow damn it! I have the weather channel on and they are talking all about snow in terms of feet, power outages, driving restrictions, and here - nothing but melting. It sucks. The only good thing about today is that I get to meet one of my bestie's offspring tomorrow. Hopefully this gloom and funk will be over by then but if not, I will hold that baby and sniff her head (Babies smell awesome. The head end that is. Not the other end) and experience a moment of pure peace. Because even if just for that moment, that little baby needs me. That may be it. I may just want to feel needed. The Kid (who is about to graduate from university) informed me that that's why they give people in nursing homes with diminished cognitive capacity baby dolls to care for. It gives them purpose. A reason for being. A connection to the universe. Maybe I need to dig out my old 80's Cabbage Patch Dolls and carry them around. I wonder if that would make me feel any better. I also wonder if I will end up back in the "special unit" on the fifth floor. Walking around with a doll all day. But if I go to the "special unit" I will get a referral to a new psych doc and an appointment without the normal waiting time. There, two birds with one stone. Now all I've got to do is keep the momentum going.