I used to think being a psychiatrist would be a cool job. But then it occurred to me that it would make me even more crazy because I’d spend all my time psychoanalyzing myself and wondering why did I do that, why did I say that, etc etc. I know me and I know I’d lay awake at night turning it all over and over round and round in my lil’ noggin. Then, besides analyzing myself, there would be all my patients to deal with and I’d just be totally mental.
But at least I could get my hands on some good meds.
So anyway, yeah I’m in a funk and no, I don’t know how to get out of it. And why do I feel the need to announce it here anyway? What’s up with that? I don’t think I want sympathy or commiseration, although you guys are really sweet to offer that. I think I just want someone to “get” me. That’s all. Or maybe I just want to be able to write that I’m in a funk so that when whoever reads this notices how weird and bizarre I’m acting they can just whisper to others around “oh, don’t mind her, she’s just in a weird funk” and I don’t have to explain myself to anyone.
Handy thing, this here blog.
So no more talking about my funkiness here this week. Besides, no one can fix it but me. Or a good psychiatrist.