12.17.2004

"Thank you for holding..."

And, yes. This really did happen to me.

About three years ago, I was switching meds and the withdrawal from the med I was on? KILLING ME! ohmigodsobadmyheadisgonnablow. That kind of med withdrawal. The withdrawal also made me RAVENOUS for carbs. "Eat the whole loaf of bread at 3 a.m. kind of ravenous."

You've been there, right? When you run out of chips and bread and stuff, so you start toasting frozen hotdog buns? Please tell me I'm not the only one.

Anyhoo. I was alone at home and the withdrawal was SO INTENSE that I decided I needed someone to tell me, "It's okay. You're okay. You'll live." And it was 3 a.m. No one I know is awake at 3 a.m.. So who should I call?

The Suicide Hotline, that's who!! Even though I didn't feel like "going there", I knew they will be on the other end of the phone and that they are used to dealing with this kind of thing. But I had to really think before calling. I'd never called before. I didn't want them to overreact or panic on my behalf or send the fire department over. Nothing like that. But they must take phone calls pretty seriously, right? Because...hey...they ARE the SUICIDE HOTLINE. And that is, well, a really important number.

So, I called. I dialed the numbers nervously. It rang on the other end, connected, and I was PUT ON HOLD.

Let me repeat that. THE SUICIDE HOTLINE PUT ME ON HOLD. I could have been calling BECAUSE I was sitting on a ledge somewhere instead of on the floor in my hallway. WTF?

So, what did I listen to while I was on hold waiting for the Suicide Hotline people? "I Just Called to Say I Love You." By Stevie Wonder. On a LOOP! No joke.

I didn't want to kill myself when I called them. But after five minutes with that song, I was all "SLIT MY WRISTS NOW! NOW! WHERE IS MY BIC SHAVER?!"

I hate that song. I hung up.

After I didn't have to listen to that song anymore, though? I DID feel better.

12.16.2004

HappyNotHappy: Interactive!

Research published in the VERY scientific journal...Self Help Magazine...is investigating the connection between facial expressions babies interpret from their mothers and the prevalence of developing chronic depression.

We figured, "Hey! Our readers are pretty smart. I wonder if they are adept at reading and responding appropriately to facial expressions now that they are in adulthood?"

So we put together some quizzes to determine just that. How adept are you at reading facial expressions?

What will the results mean? We have no idea.

Quiz #1

catcow






This cat is....?

...happy.


...not happy.


...going to cut you unless you back off.


...ready to be milked.


...being totally pimped by its sadistic owner.


...a cow! Not a cat.


12.14.2004

Nothing like being home for the holidays

Nope. There isn't anything like it at all.

All of the GUILT! SHAME! DYSFUNCTIONAL SECRETS! PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVE BEHAVIOR! PARENT & CHILD ROLE NEGOTIATIONS! PIN THE TAIL ON THE MARTYR!!! (My mother LOVES this game.) EXPECTATIONS! OBLIGATIONS!

I love. love. love. the holidays.

prozacholiday1

With Prozac. Oh, yes. Holidays are MUCH better with anti-depressants.

12.13.2004

Holidays with HappyNotHappy: Keep it simple

The perfect stocking stuffer for your favorite melancholy mama (or papa).

tailhook

Let me explain why.

I'm tired a lot. I often don't have the energy to keep everything tidy when even a shower seems like climbing Mount Everest. HOWEVER! Tidiness keeps me calm. Calm is good. Simple is REAL good.

What to do? What to do?

Hooks. A whole wall of 'em. In the bedroom or in your closet. Doesn't matter where. Rows and rows of little dog butts to hang your clothes on.

I say "Feh" to hangers. Too much trouble. But hooks? Survival + Humor = Excellent.