Medicated

It's a big day for me today.  And that's sort of odd, because it's not as though it's some great anniversary or birthday or anything.  At least, that I'm aware of.  Given the size of our family and my newness at being a true significant other, it is entirely possible that I have forgotten an event of some sort and royally pissed someone off with that last statement.  I tend to do that.   (As an aside, in case you didn't know, our family is big.  At family gatherings, you are a small voice in a cacophony of laughs, stories and contentious points being made.   The chances of you being able to carry on a legitimate conversation at one is somewhere near the chances of you being able to hear a pin drop on a busy airport runway.)

No, it's not a special day just because it's the second day of this blog, either.  (On another tangent, I did not even realize that I started this blog on the anniversary of President Kennedy's assassination.  Some folks that are smarter than me would probably say there's some sort of ironic symmetry about that, I'd imagine.  But they can make those sorts of leaps in eclectic thought-- that's why they get paid to write, while I get paid to never fully understand how a largely-automated job can possibly be so difficult for so many people.)

Nope, today is the day that I take step two in my plan to get myself back to being the creative force I used to be.  And this might be the most difficult one, too.  Today I go see my doctor and I talk to him about Viagra.

Oh, shit.  You mean that doesn't expand your mind, too?  Well, that's  a big "fuck me on stilts".

Actually, I'm going to see him about seeing what sort of medication we can put me on that will keep away this anxious, oppressing gloom of depression without turning me into either A) a completely unproductive drooling vegetable or B) a bubbly flower girl named Rainbow Jubilee.  Cause God knows, A) I am already desperately close to being a drooling vegetable; my weekends are largely filled with watching the wall of my room and wondering if I can change paint colors with my mind rather than doing something constructive like... maybe writing, or maybe art, and B) my lovely fiancee will probably stake me through the heart with a digital tablet stylus if I start singing how the hills are alive with the Sound of Music or some crap like that.  

But, you know, even with my insurance, there's like a $25 co-pay at the doctor's office.  Maybe I should just load up.  You know, how you try to get all the preventative maintenance done when you get your oil changed, or buy all your Christmas gifts in one run to keep your trips down?  Maybe I ought to look at this as an opportunity.  Buy one procedure, get one free.   "Yeah, I'm really happy we can get me set up for Wellbutrin, doctor.  I'm also having a little trouble sleeping, I have muscle spasms at times, and you think it would be too much to ask to slap a couple inches on my pud while I'm here?"

Hell, maybe I could get a rain check on the buy-one-get-one so I can use it later, kinda a just-in-case for when we've finished up with the move.  That way, in case I strain my vertebrae lifting the couch; or find after the fact that I have an allergy to cats, ferrets, or married life; or we decide the vasectomy honestly cannot wait for a few months, I can take advantage of it then rather than waiting for a big sale when I have to buy it with a six pack of Darvocet or Propecia.

Or maybe I'll just deal with one issue at a time.   Someone once told me that dealing with one problem at a time rather than a dozen was a good way to keep the anxieties away.   Course, maybe if I listened to them a lot more, I wouldn't be in the sort of situation where I needed to see a doctor to get my creative mojo back in the first place.