Let Me Go To Rehab: I Say Yeah, Yeah, Yeah

I was reading an article about women who have severe post-partum depression – like, really severe, to the point that they’re having suicidal thoughts and just can’t function. There are a few clinics around the country that specialize in that condition where women can check themselves (and their babies) in to get round-the-clock care until their condition resolves.

Then I started thinking about drug and alcohol clinics, and rehab in general, and… I don’t mean in any way to make light of how serious these conditions are – beyond anything I’ve experienced, for sure – but honestly, it just sounded… nice. I wish I could check myself into a clinic somewhere, to recover from life in general. Recently I’ve been staying up late to work– it’s the only way I can meet my deadlines, since I can’t do editing work while my daughter is awake. On the days that I go in to the office, my typical day goes like this:

7 am: get up and take care of her, feed the animals, tidy up, pack lunches, get ready for work
8-9 am: commute to work
9 am-5 pm: work at my jobby job
5 pm-6 pm: commute home
6-8 pm: fix dinner, wash dishes, put her to bed
8 pm-2 am: work at my freelance job
2-7 am: sleep

I am so drained and exhausted from the late nights. I nod off at my desk all the time, during the day. I’m falling behind on my work, despite my best efforts. On the days when I don’t have to go in to my jobby job, I just slouch around home like a zombie – trudge to the park pushing the stroller and sit glazed-over on a bench while she plays, scoop Spaghetti-Os out of a can for her lunch, participate in her games and potty training and other activities in silence and like I’m moving in slow motion. I have to use every minute of her nap time to edit, or I'll fall further behind – though what I want most in the world is to have a nap of my own.

To me, the idea of getting away to a clinic where I could sleep – sleep! – and someone would bring me meals, and people would talk to me about how to resolve my problems – it sounds heavenly. I have fantasies that the stress is the only reason I’m not menstruating, that if I could just get a little more rest, my fertility would come back, and my clear skin, and my shiny hair, and my husband would look at me with adoration again. But right now I’m on a treadmill and I feel like I'll never be able to get off.

Gettin' Served

Today I had blood drawn to figure out why, oh why, after all these months I am still incapable of getting pregnant again (no angst there), and then, because it was a fasting blood test and I was about to faint, I got an oatmeal at Starbucks. In both places, I had the sense of being cared for by efficient, warm, service-industry people who had to get through hundreds of transactions a day but still managed to be kind to me, the individual customer they might never see again. I've been reading a psychology book about people who have trouble interacting socially (diagnoses like autism and severe antisocial tendencies). I thought how, at a basic animal level, my psyche would interpret both encounters as random strangers expressing caring for me, and if I was antisocial, they might represent a small bit of progress.

The phlebotomist greeted me with a warm smile and asked me if I'd had a good weekend. While she was filling up vials with my blood, she said, "Doing ok?" She was calm and reassuring, the kind of person I could imagine coaching me through any painful experience. The Starbucks cashier said "Sure thing" when I gave my order. A few minutes later, another employee noticed me standing there, even though the place was crowded and busy, and asked "What are you waiting on, ma'am?" and when I said oatmeal, he pushed the bag that had been sitting on the counter (which I had suspected was mine but was too shy to reach for) over to me. I thought it was so nice that he even noticed I had been standing there for several minutes. He could easily have ignored me and focused on serving more assertive customers. I walked out with my oatmeal (delicious - warm, perfectly cooked - and it comes with a packet of brown sugar, some dried fruit, and nuts to mix in), feeling, even though I had just conducted business transactions with various strangers - loved.

Riddle-me-ree

Here are two riddles that my clever husband thought up.

Riddle #1:
"I look surprised, but I'm the one who shocks."

I guessed "electric eel," which just made him shake his head sadly. The answer is not electric eel. But it's something that you can guess, if you think about it.

Riddle #2:
"If there's just one, it's real, but if there's two, it's not."

This one is obviously impossible to get without a hint. So here's a hint: It has to do with Vietnamese cuisine.

And just for good measure, here is his all-time favorite joke (that I think he also made up):
"Why do giraffes make bad teachers?"










Because their explanations go over their students' heads!