Last night after momma wach suggested I be put on a “mild anti-depressant” she and I were discussing the fact that our new neighbor is a VP of drama development at CBS.
I told her I thought that it’s too bad that he’s not in comedy.
To which she asked if I was feeling particularly funny these days.
I should mention that I was crying at the time.
So I choked out a, “no.”
“Well why don’t you write a drama right now then?”
“Cause they’re not funny.”
This made me laugh. but i was still crying so then I choked a little.
Today, I’m FIIIiiiiiine but crying again so I decided to multi-task.
If I’m already gonna get my face all wet, I might as well save time and cry in the shower.
So now I know, first hand, where rape showers (ever seen a movie where someone gets raped? they ALWAYS cut away from the actual mis-deed to the girl scrubbing herself raw [the worse the rape the scratchier the scrubber: bar of soap = SM rape, washcloth or those liquid soap poof things = Med rape, loofah = LG rape] in the shower, hysterical. This is what I call a Rape Shower.) are born.
You can barely even tell that you’re crying in there, it’s nice and hot (I don’t know about you but my body feels like an ice pop when I cry), and it cleans away any evidence.
Later, I met up with SB where she nicely suggested/recommended adding some Wellbutrin to my life. An anti-depressant.
That’s makes two! All I need is one more so on Thursday I will meet with my brand new first time ever $250/hour shrink who will likely third the motion and pass it into effect.
So thank you to #1 mama jo wachner, for telling me to consider writing drama instead of picking a new career. Â Â