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Bad Sign Number Six Million And Sixteen
Mar. 20th, 2009 07:31 pmWhen your psychiatrist is having a worse day than you are.
Poor dude was having one of those Stressful Type Days, and he admitted it to me when I asked why he looked so glum. I have actually had depressed psychiatrists before. The key is to resist the urge to say “HA HA! Who is the therapist NOW?” and instead just try not to make their days any less pleasant.* So I gave him my impressions of this new medication** and got myself a prescription for a new one that will make me feel like … well, like doing things again.
He also liked my metaphor for all those constant little chores that can overwhelm you—I wonder if he’s going to count shoveling sand as a daily activity now.
In other news, I used a whole stack of both metaphorical and literal spoons today making very tiny cupcakes for an extremely silly project involving dolls and ponies. And I have pictures of steampunky items and Great Machines and a faked moonwalk*** to upload when I get some more metaphorical spoons back. My next camera dump is gonna be epic.
But till then, there are tiny cupcakes to be eaten, and prescriptions to get filled.
*This is, believe it or not, something of a core tenet in my Philosophy Of Interaction, which is a little difficult to pull off in friend-type situations because of my monumental cluelessness, but which is surprisingly easy to do with professional service-type people. The secret to my success is to not be a total fuckwad. You would be amazed how many people either don’t know or don’t care about this advice, unless you have worked one of those jobs that require human interaction for any length of time at all, and then you would not.
**Boiled down to “May the sinks of this drug’s makers never shut off, their sewers back up, and their smoke alarms be constantly low on batteries!”
***Signs it is faked include the way the background looks like a flat triptych and the way I am wearing street clothes.
Poor dude was having one of those Stressful Type Days, and he admitted it to me when I asked why he looked so glum. I have actually had depressed psychiatrists before. The key is to resist the urge to say “HA HA! Who is the therapist NOW?” and instead just try not to make their days any less pleasant.* So I gave him my impressions of this new medication** and got myself a prescription for a new one that will make me feel like … well, like doing things again.
He also liked my metaphor for all those constant little chores that can overwhelm you—I wonder if he’s going to count shoveling sand as a daily activity now.
In other news, I used a whole stack of both metaphorical and literal spoons today making very tiny cupcakes for an extremely silly project involving dolls and ponies. And I have pictures of steampunky items and Great Machines and a faked moonwalk*** to upload when I get some more metaphorical spoons back. My next camera dump is gonna be epic.
But till then, there are tiny cupcakes to be eaten, and prescriptions to get filled.
*This is, believe it or not, something of a core tenet in my Philosophy Of Interaction, which is a little difficult to pull off in friend-type situations because of my monumental cluelessness, but which is surprisingly easy to do with professional service-type people. The secret to my success is to not be a total fuckwad. You would be amazed how many people either don’t know or don’t care about this advice, unless you have worked one of those jobs that require human interaction for any length of time at all, and then you would not.
**Boiled down to “May the sinks of this drug’s makers never shut off, their sewers back up, and their smoke alarms be constantly low on batteries!”
***Signs it is faked include the way the background looks like a flat triptych and the way I am wearing street clothes.
