Thursday, April 06, 2006

Excuse me, doctor, but I'm having a nervous breakdown . . .

Before I begin - I just want to say - if anyone is still checking in here given the fact I’ve written nary a word in AGES - Thank you to those who have been periodically checking in with me during the past couple of months. I know I haven’t responded. I have lurked at some of your blogs, but haven’t commented. Things have been a little bit more than hectic, but I truly appreciate that my cyber friends have been checking in. It means a lot.

That said . . .

There was an accident when we were children involving my sister falling through a ceiling while she and I were playing “secret-agents-communicate-via-the-air-conditioning-ducts-in-the-attic.” We had to schlep off to the emergency room to make sure she hadn’t broken anything, and hope that my parents weren’t going to be investigated for child abuse over the lame and far-fetched story told to the hospital staff of how she received her injuries. She really did fall through a ceiling and we actually were playing “secret-agents-communicate-via-the-air-conditioning-ducts-in-the-attic.”

While I was in the waiting area of the emergency room, a 40-something woman in a plain house dress walked in, walked up to the registration desk and said, “Excuse me, but I’m having a nervous breakdown and I need to see a doctor.”

Being the tender age of 10, I thought this was really exotic and a little frightening. A NERVOUS BREAKDOWN. Wow. A real crazy person.

After they handed her the forms on the clipboard and told her to sit down - she of course came and sat next to me. Even then, the crazies were drawn to me like mold to . . .well, anything organic. She reached into her purse, removed a pack of gum (what I considered to be a really normal type of action for someone about to be put in a straightjacket), turned to me and politely asked, “would you like a stick of gum?” I told her I wasn’t allowed, but thank you. She seemed so normal.

I think I understand her perfectly now.

Which brings me to my current dilemma. How exactly does one schedule in a nervous breakdown?

I’m not talking the, “oh a valium would be very nice right now” variety, but the full on gut-wrenching scream/howling, sobbing variety that includes an unfortunate forgetfulness about bathing; bouts of vomiting and diarrhea; requires that one be sent somewhere tropical to be fed, watered; told when to exercise; told when to go to bed and liberally furnished with fruity drinks in festive glasses that sport umbrellas peeking over the top of clinking ice cubes at all times. That kind of nervous breakdown. The kind of nervous breakdown that requires money and free time; a commodity generally available to those with either a really good vacation package at work, or those who are independently jobless-with-money-but-have-hobbies.

REAL nervous breakdowns are not for the working class. Call me bitter.

That said, I am currently faced with the challenge of scheduling a working class nervous breakdown that takes into account the obvious financial obstacles and the inherent/significant lack of free time from responsibilities to job, family and dog walking.

The planning stage is not going well. And of course my hair has decided to start breaking in half to accentuate the level to which I am stressed - so the grand plan for long goddess hair like that of my spin instructor, or my inner Uma Thurman - must be CUT SHORT (insert maniacal laugh here) in favor of choppy short blonde hair like that lunatic with the condoms in her purse, Sharon Stone. Who is hot, don’t get me wrong - but she is a bit of a lunatic and her new movie is awful.

A nervous breakdown, AND bad hair.

Time management is so demanding.

9 Comments:

Blogger Catharine said...

Perhaps a mini-breakdown... No swaying palm trees and fruity drinks, but perhaps a long, drawn-out temper tantrum, followed by a Mango Madness Snapple (my favorite). I'll bring the little paper umbrella.

Glad to see you break surface for some air.

~C~

06 April, 2006 15:25  
Blogger R said...

I have a really comfy couch and the food is excellent. The house-keeping is a little on the iffy side but we more than make up for it with our lovely garden. Come on out.
Margarita therapy is at one (a.m AND p.m. respectively)
The masseuse comes home from work around four. (he also gives a mean mani-pedi)
Your counselor will be Jack. Do you mind that he is a dog? He is the only one who can nod his head with any authority.
Ignore the child. Just give her something shiny and refuse her sugar and she will stay out of your way.
The library is stocked with your choice of either mindless trash or philosophy. Depending on your level of introspective woe.
Stay strong girl. We all wish you well.

06 April, 2006 20:14  
Blogger Seamus said...

Sooooo...that's what it takes to spur on a trip to the tropics. Was has no one told me this before? I've been crazy too - really crazy - where's the tickket???? :P

Glad to see you out and about the sphere! Here's hoping "time management" doesn't really interfere with said breakdown, that would be so inconvienent - enough to make you nutz! Hope you get some relief and tropical umbrellas soon!

07 April, 2006 07:32  
Blogger I.M. Dedd said...

Well, if you're going to have one, I don't wanna be left out. Count me in, too.

07 April, 2006 14:27  
Blogger I.M. Dedd said...

And welcome back.

07 April, 2006 14:28  
Blogger Catharine said...

Uhhh... Rhonda? If Mil doesn't take you up on it, I will....

I actually like that Jack is a dog -- I could tell him anything and he wouldn't blab it to anyone else.

~C~

07 April, 2006 18:51  
Blogger R said...

Come on out. We were using Olive-Marie (the cat) as our resident therapist. However, that "Bitch, Please. Like I care." look she gave everyone garnered some complaints.

07 April, 2006 21:06  
Blogger frstlymil said...

Thanks, people - this is kind of like having friends in your living room to cheer you up after a really bad patch - much appreciated.

09 April, 2006 07:57  
Blogger Tom Harper said...

Welcome back. I like "REAL nervous breakdowns are not for the working class." Reminds me of a definition I read a long time ago: Kleptomaniac -- a rich thief.

Rhonda, you still have any openings for that Margarita therapy?

10 April, 2006 13:12  

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