Fuck Claire Danes - It's MY So-Called Life
Can I say "Fuck Claire Danes"? Not sure. She probably has good lawyers. She also has Billy Crudup, who fucked Jennifer Lopez up pretty bad, right up until she killed him. Not sure I want to piss him off, especially if he still has JLO's number. Oh well. What's done is done. Come and get me, Shopgirl.
I am so over this whole shrink-doctor-psychiatry thing. Seriously. Over it. I HATE doctors. Maybe not personally, but I hate dealing with them. Nothing but time and money down the drain. Call, call, call. Wait, wait, wait. And then they don't give you what you wanted in the first place. I wanted better painkillers for my constant, debilitating fucking headaches. What do I get? "Drink more water, sleep regularly and keep a journal." Great. Thank you. Journal Entry #1: "Dear Diary, it feels like a grapefruit-sized tumor is swelling in my brain and on the verge of exploding and killing me in a blinding flash of pain. Thank god that I am able to use my tongue to catch each anguished, burning teardrop....at least I am getting more water. Going to sleep now - doctor's orders! Love, Me."
And the Adderall Odyssey....god, don't even get me started. First I have to go to a psychiatrist, since no respectable internist or GP will prescribe it without a shrink's diagnosis. Fine. That's why I shell out for the primo top-shelf health plan...so I can afford this. But why are so many psychiatrists only seeing kids? Where did all these crazy kids come from, that they have to monopolize all the available psychiatrists on my health plan? Move over, little ones....Ms. Nice Grown-Up Lady is all fucked up, too. Share.
I know it's a simple matter of persistence. I have to get organized, find the time and the privacy to just go down the damn list and keep calling until I get someone suitable - someone who IS on my plan, IS taking new patients, DOES see adults, and DOESN'T have an arbitrary, moral/philosophical objection to Adderall. And if that's you, reader...for the love of Christ and all that is merciful and just, PLEASE post a reply with your office's appointment line!
The irony is, I am neither persistent nor organized WITHOUT the drugs. If I could execute this project, I wouldn't need them. At the rate I'm going, I'd have better luck hanging out around some middle-school and buying some lucky 12-year-old's pills from her, since from what I read these days, all the kids are dealing their medications and using the money to buy $700 cell phones, anyway (and to think I worked for $4.25/hr when I was in high school - what a loser).
Who is this crazy, raving, hostile, stimulant-addicted bitch? Well, I'll tell you. I'm 29 years old, about to be 30. I live in an average apartment in an average city in an average state. I weight 282.4 lbs (don't you just LOVE hyper-detailed scales), I have terrible credit and I have exactly one friend, if you don't count people from work, and I don't. And even he isn't a regular friend, and furthermore, he's a HE - I have girl friends numbering zero. My car is a mess, my body is a mess, my room is (usually) a mess.....and my life is a big fucking mess. What you are reading is my out-loud attempt to save a capsized ship from sinking. I don't know who you are, and I don't need or want to know. If you've somehow figured out who I am (know a lot of neurotic fat girls who say "fuck" incessantly?), be kind - keep it to yourself, and never let me know. You're getting a chance to witness either an inspiring self-administered life makeover...or the drain-circling end of a 20-year downward spiral. Either way, enjoy.
I am so over this whole shrink-doctor-psychiatry thing. Seriously. Over it. I HATE doctors. Maybe not personally, but I hate dealing with them. Nothing but time and money down the drain. Call, call, call. Wait, wait, wait. And then they don't give you what you wanted in the first place. I wanted better painkillers for my constant, debilitating fucking headaches. What do I get? "Drink more water, sleep regularly and keep a journal." Great. Thank you. Journal Entry #1: "Dear Diary, it feels like a grapefruit-sized tumor is swelling in my brain and on the verge of exploding and killing me in a blinding flash of pain. Thank god that I am able to use my tongue to catch each anguished, burning teardrop....at least I am getting more water. Going to sleep now - doctor's orders! Love, Me."
And the Adderall Odyssey....god, don't even get me started. First I have to go to a psychiatrist, since no respectable internist or GP will prescribe it without a shrink's diagnosis. Fine. That's why I shell out for the primo top-shelf health plan...so I can afford this. But why are so many psychiatrists only seeing kids? Where did all these crazy kids come from, that they have to monopolize all the available psychiatrists on my health plan? Move over, little ones....Ms. Nice Grown-Up Lady is all fucked up, too. Share.
I know it's a simple matter of persistence. I have to get organized, find the time and the privacy to just go down the damn list and keep calling until I get someone suitable - someone who IS on my plan, IS taking new patients, DOES see adults, and DOESN'T have an arbitrary, moral/philosophical objection to Adderall. And if that's you, reader...for the love of Christ and all that is merciful and just, PLEASE post a reply with your office's appointment line!
The irony is, I am neither persistent nor organized WITHOUT the drugs. If I could execute this project, I wouldn't need them. At the rate I'm going, I'd have better luck hanging out around some middle-school and buying some lucky 12-year-old's pills from her, since from what I read these days, all the kids are dealing their medications and using the money to buy $700 cell phones, anyway (and to think I worked for $4.25/hr when I was in high school - what a loser).
Who is this crazy, raving, hostile, stimulant-addicted bitch? Well, I'll tell you. I'm 29 years old, about to be 30. I live in an average apartment in an average city in an average state. I weight 282.4 lbs (don't you just LOVE hyper-detailed scales), I have terrible credit and I have exactly one friend, if you don't count people from work, and I don't. And even he isn't a regular friend, and furthermore, he's a HE - I have girl friends numbering zero. My car is a mess, my body is a mess, my room is (usually) a mess.....and my life is a big fucking mess. What you are reading is my out-loud attempt to save a capsized ship from sinking. I don't know who you are, and I don't need or want to know. If you've somehow figured out who I am (know a lot of neurotic fat girls who say "fuck" incessantly?), be kind - keep it to yourself, and never let me know. You're getting a chance to witness either an inspiring self-administered life makeover...or the drain-circling end of a 20-year downward spiral. Either way, enjoy.
posted by Sweet Tender Young Thing | 9:37 PM
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