my first post-first-therapy-session post

Every time I go longer than a couple days without writing, I worry I’ve been stricken with an incredibly specific type of amnesia, one which only erases that part of my brain that knows how to write eight hundred word humorous essays.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Mister Comedy, but you may never be able to blog again. It’s possible that, in time, you may be able to post comments, but…I’m very sorry. All your other functions seem to be fine.”

If I’m a bit scattered here, it’s probably because I had my first therapy session this morning. Those who read my ramblings regularly (“The password is…alliteration.”) know I’ve had this whole depression-anxiety-batshit crazy thing for a while, which I thought just made me an artist but apparently can actually get in the way of the creative process. Who knew?

head

me, after my first session

The therapist seemed nice. Of course, you probably don’t get a lot of work if you’re known as the ‘mean-ass therapist.’ Anyway, in today’s session, I gave her a sort of greatest-hits of the depressed, anxious, batshit-crazy things I’ve felt lately, and she seemed to be writing a lot, which I thought was good. Although now that I think back, she might have been holding a book of Sudoku puzzles.

lobotomy

“We’ll just remove the part of your brain that’s causing the problem.”

But honestly, it wasn’t as scary as I had imagined. And, I’m pretty sure that when the session ended I was all fixed. I suppose I’ll go back, though, just so I don’t hurt her feelings.

Watching some late-night TV before my initial headshrinking, I noticed that every third ad was for an anti-depressant. You’d think Craig Ferguson’s main demographic consisted of 18-29 year-old Sylvia Plath fans. Now, I get that drugs have side effects. I just think that certain side effects should be dealbreakers.

lunesta

“Lunesta–Oh, you’ll sleep alright, and who knows what else you’ll do?”

The ad for Lunesta casually mentions that some people who take Lunesta are at risk of DRIVING WHILE SLEEPING. Ok, so you’re working in R & D at Sepracor, and a lab guy hands you a note saying “We’ve got good news and bad news. The good news is people have been able to get a solid eight hours of sleep on the drug. The bad news is, at some point during those eight hours, they might decide to go for a drive.” At this point, doesn’t somebody at Sepracor say, “Hey, before we sell any more, let’s see if we can stop it from causing THAT.”


Talked with my therapist about getting a cat, and she seemed to think I should get my shit figured out before trying to take care of another life form. Fair enough. I’d hate to have my relationship with the cat to be like something out of a tawdry pulp movie from the fifties with Joan Crawford: “I’m too depressed for this—open your own damn tuna!”

joan

me again, looking through the bars of my daybed

But I did a little browsing at PetSmart, and I had no idea cats were such gourmands. Now, I had a cat–used to eat roaches. Apparently though, cats have such savvy palates that they occasionally crave a little lamb and rice. And what kitty’s mouth doesn’t water at the thought of liver paté, or prime filet of ocean whitefish?

The beef thing is what really throws me. Beef flavored cat food? Yeah, because in its native environment, a cat’s natural prey is the…cow. I really think if we are to be good caretakers of our pet companions, we should feed them the kinds of things they really want. Friskies Mouse and Lizard Cat Food, or Savory Sparrow. Purina Dog Chow—new hearty Gopher Flavor!

cat

Here we see the mighty Tabby, as it eyes the helpless Guernsey…

My therapist and I also talked about pot. I guess her usual contact was out, and there was this whole deal…no, in fact, we talked about my pot use, and though she did that therapist thing of not saying anything, my sense was that she felt I should keep smoking pot.

It wouldn’t make sense to quit now anyway, because I just got cable. Pot and cable TV go together so well there oughta be a stash compartment in the back of your cable box.

pot

tip: Two and a Half Men isn’t even funny when you’re baked

Three McGyver episodes back-to-back? If that isn’t weed-worthy programming I don’t know what is! Hell, I once watched an hour of Univision before I realized I DIDN’T UNDERSTAND SPANISH! I’ve watched the same blender infomercial twice because the first time, I missed some of the twenty-six attachments. Cable is clearly aimed at stoners; there’s no other explanation for what the Cartoon Network airs after 2AM.

So this is the point in the piece where normally I would tie all the comic threads together—the therapy, the cat, the drugs, the pot, the cable. I’d come up with some killer line to end the piece with a bang, because ideally, when describing a comedy piece, you don’t want to have to use the phrase ‘peters out.’ But to be honest, I’m just not feelin’ it. A total stranger opened up my skull today and started to poke around. I’ve got a lot to process. For now, I’m just glad I’m writing again.


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Posted 7 May 2011 by goodwriting in category "IT'S PERSONAL