I’ve cut a deal with the faux shrink, for now. This is a nervous entry. It’s why I’m thinking a shrink might help. That’s sounds stupid, but it’s simple, it’s a kernel from a much larger bag of popcorn. I’ve been getting anxious these days before having an appointment of any kind.
The one skill every kind of social worker has is how to get services. Nine Times out of Ten you get a service by plugging in the right diagnosis. I’ve been diagnosed with anxiety for years. I didn’t feel anxiety, not in the traditional sense, and when I did it was a good thing, a motivator. Barring accidents or ex wives I am never ever late for anything. Um, for instance. When I would get anxious it drove me to be on time. But it was more like a quick shot of adrenaline than, say, any shade of fear.
It’s the least of my worries or troubles, but it’s a simple observation that may unravel the untoward trend. Much worse and much more of a hail Mary is the headache thing. It’s got most of the symptoms of migraines; light sensitivity than a headache behind the left eye, always the left, and it’s difficult to do things. The Hail Mary is that it’s from anxiety, it sure causes anxiety.
I have more faith that I can talk it out with a shrink, faux or naux, than get any satisfaction from my doctor. I should probably shop for another doctor, but that’s scary too. I don’t know. I’m typing to keep from showing up an hour and a half early. There’s still a bit of snow on the ground and it’s sixty degrees out.
I’m going on a short trip to Oregon in the autumn to see my daughter get married. Half thinking about driving. I like the idea of driving through the west to come back here as opposed to leaving Oregon and stepping off five hours later in Detroit. I don’t know. Right now that sounds appealing. I may go up north in June too. My daughter and siblings have been conspiring for years to “fix” this house up. Right now there is a contractor making the back porch and kitchen nook into a bed and bath for my mom who hasn’t used but the ground level of this three story house and basement.
I’m not really sure what my siblings intents are, I suspect it has a bit to do with resale value of house. The extra bedroom will cost more than it will add. I also suspect when my mom passes the selling of the house will fall to me. I’m not sure it even makes sense to hold onto the house for much longer with my mom living. It’s difficult for her to get around. I do know that mid-Michigan is killing me. The air and the water don’t move.
Yes I miss Oregon, but it’s not just the comparison of Michigan and Oregon. It’s swampy here. The air is thick and stagnant and so is the water. Not in the whole state, but I don’t live in the whole state. I’ve given up trying to explain to doctors and shrinks my environmental concerns. They ignore them and I sound manic and crazy to them. They chose to be here. I know my complaints are subjective but I don’t know what that has to do with the price of hash in Nepal.
The GF and I have grand plans for leaving. They could be very realistic, but they don’t feel that way. Both of us have spent most of our lives doing such things spontaneously. I don’t know. In a lot of ways we are very similar, but, too, in a lot of ways I kind of tailor myself to a relationship. I know at some point the shrink is going to want to talk about shit like that and family shit and I don’t want to. Mostly because of the If It’s Not Broken Don’t Fix It rule, but also because if you put anything under a microscope you can find a flaw, amazing beauty you hadn’t seen before too, but also a flaw. I don’t feel flawed.
I also don’t think that Love Is Sacrifice is a maudlin or melancholy concept. It’s hard to talk to someone who does. They are either full of shit, wrong, or childless and petless. I think advertising got us here. There is nothing romantic about changing diapers or school conferences or anything else that comes with a child; but you love the little fuckers. Because of my old occupation I am suspicious of someone who says they love their kids and there is no downside. At the very least having a kid puts all the other plans you had on their head. Love is Sacrifice, and sure you do it willingly and with pureness of spirit, but you are aware of both sensations.
Having elderly parents is a bit like having kids too except for the autonomy part. Romantic love is like that too, I mean the kind that remains. If you take sex and money out of the equation … oh. Yeah, no. But that’s where the snares and traps are. Not with a kid or a dog; that’s abhorrent. The Inuit have 47 names for snow. We pretty much use the word love to cover a broad variety of things. That’s not a shrink thing, it’s semantics. I had a happy childhood, almost embarrassingly happy. I may need romantic relationships to feel happy, but Christ, I think that’s pretty standard. It’s not going to keep my eye from twitching or affect anxiety to talk about and I’m not paying a shrink to be my chit chat buddy.
Shit this is boring me but it did take up some time.
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