Weekend Lexapro

I have the world's best therapist. Much like we shall never total the amount of money that I spend on lattes, so too we shall never tally the therapy expenses. Both are vital to my mental health.

I explained to my therapist how I have been feeling lately and how I was wondering if it was biological at this point. She asked me this, "Would your mood change if you found out right now that you got that in-house counsel position?" My response - well hell yea. And also whoa.

It's. Just. A. Job.

At the CT Scan, the radiology tech said that my son could have one of his parents go back with him, and he said, "I want my mommy" (Had the wind been blowing northwest instead of northeast, he would have asked for his daddy.) But that, plus the realization that this funk is all over a stupid JOB, made me realize - I am a mommy. And I am a great man's wife. And I have a friend that makes an excellent Christmas vodka.

So, on a logical level, I know that I am being silly, and I tell myself to stop it. But I can't help it - I am still crying all the time and I still have that heartbreak feeling in my heart, a literal feeling I can detect in my heart. My therapist says that I am burned out and, also, she thinks I am starting to show signs of biological depression. And I am burned out.

I emailed the company with the in-house counsel position, and got no response. I even had a meeting scheduled on Friday about a franchise opportunity, but the guy just never showed. And so it has been for months and months on end - I have been chasing opportunities that evaporate before my eyes, each and every one. And I guess I'm just burned out from all the chasing.

But I don't have to chase my husband or my son. They're right here. And did I mention that I am somebody's mommy. Did I mention that he said, "I want my mommy" and then he reached for my hand and we walked down that hall together, holding hands, toward that big scary CT machine.

I wish I could tell you that was the moment that I gave up wanting my career back so badly, but I still do crave it deeply. And I still wonder and stress and cry about the fact that I don't know if I will ever get it back. What I can tell you is that the whole event made me realize that I have been selfish. Because I have been so self-absorbed, it literally took my son holding out his hand for me to remind me that it's time for this to stop being about what I need and what I am not getting. Rather, its time for this to start being about what we need as a family.

I'll Have the Liver!

1. CT Scan results = sinusitis. Thanks to everyone for their love on that front.

2. I worked that seminar like my career depended on it. While only part of the seminar was about law, during that part I felt like myself. The law made me tired, the law took all my time, and I would obsess about ambiguous legal matters with an unhealthy passion, but that is the world I know. Perhaps it was not always a healthy existence, but that's where and how I knew how to function. I am a lawyer. That much I know.

3. I am also a mother and a wife - not always consistent with 2.

4. I thought Julie and Julia was an entertaining movie, the book a quick and okay read. But Cleaved, her second book, dear God the reviews were terrible. Hateful even. I had to read the book right away.

It is a lot of talk about turning carcasses into meat. If anatomy wasn't the class for you, forget about it.

But it is also a lot of talk about her affair. She has a husband and we don't really know much about him, but we know a lot about the other guy. If the affair was a wound, Julie writing this book is like her putting her finger in that open would - like her licking her finger, dipping it in salt, and then sticking her finger into that wound and poking and prodding around in that wound, and then taking her finger out and licking it again. Ouch.

However, after two books, she has finally convinced me. I think I do want to try liver.

21 Gunds

My son was at the doctor today because he has been throwing up on and off for two weeks. The doctor thinks it's probably nothing. He is scheduled for a CT scan just to be sure. They will have to mildly sedate him.

The thought of my little boy, mildly sedated and at the mercy of a radiology tech and doctors and things I do not understand, being eased into a CT scan, makes me sick to my very core. I know, however, that there are other parents out there who heard today that their kid needs a CT scan to confirm a suspected diagnosis, not just to make sure everything is okay, so I am keeping it all in perspective.

After today's doctor appointment, my son went home with his father. Also, my husband is out of town again. My son likes to sleep with me on the days his step dad is out of town. My bed has the 21 stuffed animals (I counted) that he brought to bed with us last night. These animals consist of ones that I have given him, that his father's girlfriend bought him, that his stepfather has given him, and one bear that my mother got him before she passed away and that was put in his hospital bassinet the very first night of his life.

I thought about removing the stuffed dog that is from his father's girlfriend, this being a family gathering in my own bedroom - just kind of mistakenly purposefully edging it off of the bed with my elbow. But I let it stay. We all love him and need him to be okay, even his father's girlfriend. The girlfriend seems to really enjoy spoiling, playing with, and teaching my son, and he really likes her. And for that, of course, my son and I are both blessed.

My son speaks to these animals (perhaps more than an intelligent 8 year old should). I fear, then, that they may be missing him. Accordingly, they all get to sleep with me again tonight.

I'm Waiting . . .

Tick tick tick tick . . . Do you know that I got a new Swatch for Christmas and it has a noticeable tick. I love that. Soothing. I am such a product of the 80's. Sadly, it is not a scratch and sniff Swatch. That would just look ridiculous on someone over the age of 13 (plus I couldn't find one anywhere on the internet).

Anyway, it is very much time that my phone rang with (1) follow-up news from the screening interview for that in-house counsel position, and (2) the results of the allergy tests. Of course, I am allergic to high paneled executive gray cube walls with energy saving light bulbs and offices with the thermostats set to 64, but it will be nice to have that confirmed.

[Plastic baby blue watches with pink flamingos Swatch circa 2009 - always adorable!]

No funcsion on allergie meds

I really do always proof my posts before hitting publish so if anyone read the last post before this morning I am sorry (I think I now caught the big ones); Girlfriend doesn't funcsion well on sinus/allergy meds. Recommend Rx read: Do not operate heave equipment or blog. Plus it was hard to add all those pictures. Love, AG

What I Don't Look Like

For obvious reasons, like wanting to leave my job on my terms, not theirs (I believe that leaving a job because of a blog is called getting dooced), I have to keep this anonymous. Accordingly, I cannot provide a profile picture other than those cute little sharks - those cute little Polynesian sharks. They speak French and they don't bite.

So, for what its worth, I have been told that I look like:

I was told this by a 40 year old guy that has been smoking pot every single day since he was a junior in high school. This is the one and only thing he has ever said that makes sense.

My ex-husband thought I looked liked:

I embraced this one a little too much and even got the Reality Bites haircut. I was adorable. I totally could have kept Johnny Depp or Matt Damon. For the record, I never stole nothing.

My mom said I reminded her of:

Aww, thanks mom (I think). Although this one is looking more like Mama Judd all the time, so the reference becomes less and less appealing all the time.

I have also been told that I look like:

I got that last one most often. Although Jim Carrey would never have been my type. (And, really, Lea Thompson? Can you just live off the Caroline in the City royalties forever? I guess so.) But, in my opinion, I look like none of these people. I have the world's largest forehead - when it glows you can land planes on it. I have a big bump on my otherwise turned up little nose. Oh and there's like inches (INCHES) of space between my nose and my lips. So really I look like one of the creatures from The Twilight Zone movie (the one from the early 80s), or Beaker from the Muppets. Nevertheless, despite my true alien-like appearance, I was able to snag a husband that looks like this (for real)

and does floors. I win.

Weekend Lexapro

Follow-up to Monday's post. Yes, I'm still going there.

After spending last Saturday on the couch, I made myself snap out of it. Things needed to be cleaned (me) and people needed to be fed (one more cereal buffet for dinner and there was going to be mutiny). Admission here: I have always believed that your mental well being is, well, mental. Just determine you are going to be happy and viola!

In the face of the lay-off, sure, I cried. A lot. But I also polished the resume, applied for every possible job even tangentially related to my area of the law, and eventually any area of the law I could fake, and kept the kid fed and the clothes ironed (even the pillow cases). In the face of adversity, I fight and iron pillow cases. That's what I do.

But by Sunday afternoon, I was back to wanting to just sit on the couch under blankets to watch people cook on t.v., or perhaps fish, or perhaps paint a happy painting. Jersey Shore just seemed a little too upbeat. By Thursday, I stopped wearing eye makeup because I was crying every day without warning, for no identifiable reason. And that got me thinking - this might, at this point, be physical not just mental.

I think I have been putting on an "I'm okay" front for so long now that my brain can no longer ignore what my subconscious has been screaming behind the scenes - that it's almost been a year and I am farther from, not closer to, being an attorney again, that attorneys who used to consider me an expert on a certain area of the law are now surpassing me in their legal housekeeping. The dentist says that I am clenching my teeth so hard at night that I am cracking them. I wake up with sore arms because I am clenching my fists in my sleep. I am telling myself to just get over it, but the subconscious now wants its say, and it has been wanting that say for so long now that I think I really may have altered the chemicals in my brain to the point of clinical depression.

I understand that there are world crises underway (the atolls of French Polynesia are disappearing due to global warming - if you have ever been, you know this is unacceptable), and some Republicans seem to be thwarting health care reform just because. Whoa, did I just go all political there? My brain gets that there are bigger issues than my little ol' inability to be happy. But my body has taken over, and that's where its going.

Is this where this blog is going on a regular basis? No. But its also impossible to ignore. Accordingly, until further notice, Weekend Treat is going to be replaced with Weekend Lexapro. You can tune in if you want, or ignore the weekends. I share this journey here just for that reason - to share. I am seeking professional help (yay for Therapy Thursdays). The rest of the week's blog entries will be business as usual.

I know that I am going to be okay. My husband and son just deserve the old me back, the sweet and really happy me. So this is my story of how we are going to get there.

P.S. This is seriously my absolute favorite email regarding Monday's post: "I'd like to state for the record that that is just pure dramatic horseshit that sounds like a deleted scene from the movie Less Than Zero." That made me laugh out loud. Love the Brent Easton Ellis reference.