Haven’t written for some days. Was very flat after Sunday’s experiment, pretending I wasn’t majorly depressed – that seemed to demand a huge psychic toll afterwards. My partner apparently needs me to be “cognitively able” this week, to help him crunch some numbers for work, and this is simply too hard (because I can’t do it right now even though I’m usually a numbers person) but must be done, so there is a constant pressure inside my head protesting against this burden. Doctors continue to … well, I’ll keep it G-rated and just type: make a nuisance of themselves. The over version rhymed with “ducking me over” but I couldn’t be bothered coming up with anything witty to write about that.
Sounds like some black psych ward humour is called for. Gotta love black psych ward humour – the laughter which keeps the demons at bay. Here goes:
It’s a busy morning. The psychiatrist’s receptionist has a full waiting room, a backlog of GPs to contact, is trying to find a bed for one of her boss’s patients, and has started sweating because her boss has just remembered it’s her wedding anniversary, and she hasn’t yet got her husband anything … guess whose lap that one will fall into?!
So it all seems a bit unfair when she snatches a five minute break and rings a girlfriend. Her boss overhears her and barges in: “Just say we’re really busy! Don’t keep repeating it’s a madhouse in here!”