Right on time, and probably not a moment too soon, I think that extra dosage of anti-depressant is starting to kick in. I have more energy, if not exactly more strength. For instance, before, I couldn’t unload the dishwasher because I can’t bend because of re-injuring my back, so I’d just leave it alone. Now I leave the dishwasher door open and try to take a few things out of the top shelf and put them away as I go by. This is still not resulting in the dishwasher getting unloaded, but it DOES give the reasonable side of my brain something to tell the depressed side of my brain.

Depressed Side of Tea’s Brain: “You never get anything done”
Reasonable Side of Tea’s Brain: “Yes I did, I just put away 3 glasses, 4 coffee mugs and the ...

dog dish as well as all the silverware. That’s up 1 glass, 1 mug and 7 forks from last night, so there’s every reason to think that I’ll be able to move on to bowls and plates tomorrow”

The Hub “Why is the door to this dishwasher always open?”

Me “Think of it as a theater of war in a battle of good against evil”

The Hub “You know what? I bet I could just finish unloading it in the time it would take you to explain that to me.”

Me “That’ll work too.”

Yes, it’s true that The Hub has had to help out more with the housework. But don’t feel too sorry for him. After all, he makes way more than his fair share of the messes (Did you ever wonder why, if you come to my house, there is a caulking gun, a box of pipe cleaners, a bottle of Tarnex, 7 feet of spooled electrical wire, pliers, fish food, and a bus schedule, written in Spanish, to Guadalajara, Mexico in the middle of my dining room table? I wonder about it all the time. In fact, it’s a good thing The Unabomber is already in custody, or somebody looking through the window would probably call the police) And besides, I dragged myself to the market after work and got him his favorite ice cream and frozen waffles.

I’ve stopped, for the most part, eating ice cream for dinner. Though I think that may have been helping. Maybe I’m suffering from calcium deficiency.

I’ve started chuckling at the musical clips on my favorite radio program, Marketplace again. I picked up that book my father lent me, Triggerfish Twist, which I just found annoying when I tried to read it before. I should have known I was in trouble then, since it’s the kind of thing I almost always find laugh-out-loud funny. It’s got a WAY over-the-top, clinically insane, lovable miscreant anti-hero, a villain named Lance Boyle, kidnappers who can’t find their way out of the parking lot at Wendy’s and lots of historical tidbits about the state of Florida. In fact, reading this guy’s writing not only gives me a laugh, it gives me hope that one day I might get published.

But I don’t have that much energy yet. Tomorrow I have an appointment with Dr. A. because I’ve decided that this trembling problem with my hands has gone on long enough. I have enough brain function turned on to think about what a normal middle class person who has health insurance would do in this situation. I’ve decided to go to the doctor and politely but firmly insist that I get both a diagnosis and a treatment plan, if not actual relief (i.e. I know there’s a limit to the relief I can get in the situation with my back, but that doesn’t mean I just have to hobble around taking 8 hours to unload the dishwasher)

As for the job, I’m just going to do the best I can, day by day. Encouragingly, sales are healthy at my antique booth at WAM. Hell, I might turn a profit in my first month. That could give me something to be genuinely happy about!