Monday, November 20, 2006


Cubicle life is interesting to tolerate when you're flying just below the sanity radar. Elizabeth Wurtzel described life off meds once as where your whole body feels like one big nerve ending, or like you're walking around without skin. While I tend not to identify with her experiences anymore, because she personifies a "me!me!me!" whiny personality that no amount of therapy is ever going to relieve her of, I still admit to appreciating her flair for description. You've got the A/C hum, coaches and team leaders talking to coworkers around you, people coughing without covering their mouths because they figure they don't have to since they're in cubes, and you're trying to focus on what feels like your 20th Herbalife site of the day without letting something mundane slip by, like spelling receive/recieve. The majority of my coworkers listen to music with headphones/earbuds, but I have to be in the right frame of mind to do that. I'm ready to fly outta here, but I've got an hour to go, and going home means doing laundry when I'd rather spend a little time under the covers. S'pose I could pull off both, but I really need to get the laundry and cleaning done tonight, because tomorrow night will be shopping for Thanksgiving.

Restless, but not wanting to do anything...that's the way I was last night...banging around the apartment because there wasn't enough on TV and I wasn't motivated enough to clean. I know when I get home tonight, I'll sit still initially, maybe re-sort the laundry or tuck into the dishes to avoid starting the laundry, and I've got decent TV tonight (Charlie Brown, Heroes, Studio 60) so I'll be able to focus on that while I knit or fine-tune the shopping list for tomorrow, but getting to that point...this is a tough time. I think about asking Doyle for an increase in my Paxil, and then I remind myself that I've only been back on it for going on 3 weeks, so I need to take this as the growth opportunity that it is, head down, push on...drink water, drive on, private, as Cyril would say, the mantra of Army basic training...similar idea in about the only funny part of an old Anthony Michael Hall movie, Johnny Be Good:

Johnny: Coach, I broke my dick.
Coach: Well, throw some dirt on it and get back in the game, son!

I put chocolate on the hurt spots, and my butt stays big. I need to get outside as much as possible when the temps are down like they are at present. I think it's the only thing that kept me hinged last time we were in SC, that and Kylie, my beautiful, dark-eyed niece. I set her on my chest and look into those inquisitive eyes. She has a full head of dark brown hair that takes on an adorable punk-rock look, and holding her gives you that "all's right with the world" feeling.

But my biological clock's not outta control...

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