When Doc got up, he authorized the Xanax dose, as it is his script I'm using now. I feel much better than I did. I'm still about 75% crazy right now, though. I couldn't carry on a conversation if my life depended upon it. Doc offered to stay home for a couple of hours. I told him for the love of all that is sacred, no. If I can't communicate, us being together is a bad bad bad idea. I just need to be here with the pets and do my thing. Without worrying about talking or processing incoming information and responding to it.
Doc has decided the best weapon against the staff at the Doctor's office is my crazy. So he's taking it, I mean me, with him to the office tomorrow to work all of this out. Multiple messages today again went unanswered. Doc said my fears that they diverted our numbers straight to voice mail were completely paranoid. How does he explain Robin not answering the phone once over the last two and a half weeks? Robin's superpower is juggling the phones with the patients in front of her. I can't believe I fucked us this bad. One little phone call. One confused, bad answer from me, and we're fucked. He might not even take me back. I may have to find a new doctor. I might have to go inpatient just to get my meds. That'll be fucking easy, as I am slipping. Once he takes me out of the house, god only knows what will happen. I may end up inpatient tomorrow.
My meds are ingredients in a complex chemical soup. Not your average stew that you can just toss things into. But a carefully crafted bouillabaisse that needs everything in certain amounts to taste quite right. And by "taste", I mean "work". Anytime I am missing an ingredient in its proper proportion, I feel it acutely, immediately. Angry patrons in the dining room of my frontal lobe start sending bowls back. There is chaos. My eyes get wide and I get twitchy, as any chef would, trying to work with what they have, knowing it is not enough. Fight or flight mode kicks in. And stays. For hours, days. It wears me out. But it stays. There seems no end of adrenaline to fuel the hang-ten off the White Cliffs of Sanity. All because I can't make a good soup right now.
My heart is pounding. Again. Still. More. I wonder if Scorpion is on tonight. Doc seemed to be watching a different episode of Mr. Robot yesterday, I may look for that and watch it. It is SO good to find a show where I completely identify with almost everything (I'm obviously not a hacker) that a TV character feels and thinks. I've never had that. Doc watches it over and over to try to understand me. It hasn't seemed to help yet, but it's a nice effort. Really, if you want to get a clue how I think (that I can't express for some reason), watch that show on USA Network when it premiers later this month, or on On Demand now, if you have that service.
I have decided against the open letter to Scott Walker. Doc heard the comparison of rape baby/vasectomy and nixed that right away. He said there was nothing good that I could put that into that would bring anything helpful to our lives. I think he's wrong, I was going to submit it to Salon.com if it was good enough, but, whatever. I don't need to get paid to write. He doesn't seem to get that I am a wee bit outspoken. He seems to want to deny that out of existence. He's so used to living with his head down, he freaks when he even thinks of me standing on someone's shoulders and yelling lewd limericks. So, when I give him a chance, he censors me. Because I make bad decisions. Pity, it took me a lot of thinking to come up with that analogy. And it gave me an excuse to use the word "penis" to a sitting US governor. Coulda been good times.
I need a cigarette. Now, before they may or may not play Scorpion.
I boiled my first pot of coffee tonight. I learned something from Papa, after all. It tasted just like his. The secret, I think, is putting the grounds and cold water in the sauce pan together and let it all come to a boil. Boil three to five minutes, strain grounds, pour a cup, sweeten liberally, add a bit of milk, and you're off. It is so good. I even sweetened it with dark brown sugar, oh so good.
Part of the Chemical Soup Analogy I mentioned above are the chemicals caffeine, nicotine, and THC along with whatever chemical is in sugar that sets the brain off. They also require balance. I can't smoke too much or too little, or drink too little or too much sugared caffeine drink without throwing my whole groove off. Okay, enough.
I learn a lot about American celebrities by watching Graham Norton on BBCAmerica. The ones who are in England really want to go on. And they seem to drop the "American Vapid Celebrity" bullshit. For Example, I discovered that Matthew McConaughey is a very well-spoken and articulate, intelligent man. Courtney Love was adorably flummoxed by the "British-speak", and not at all embarrassed by it. Taylor Swift is a twit, and not afraid to let her Twit Flag fly. Lady Gaga does not always command attention and is easily and genuinely humbled when meeting her icons. She actually does, as we've seen with Tony Bennett, work very well with others, so Graham's crowded and chaotic couch full of guests fits her in quite naturally.
James Cordon's Late Late Show takes on the full-couch model. But the stars, when here in America, are such generalized cunts, that they don't know how to work in a small group interview/improv situation for 9 minutes. James carries these people as dead weight through the show, trying in vain to get people that will interact (the Scandal!) with each other as well as with him. In the UK, there are usually, max, three degrees of separation between actors. Small country, big talent. So every show of Norton's is a sort of reunion between the UK guests, with lots of lewd and hilarious inside stories from this costume drama or that spy thriller.
Corden doesn't have this very obvious advantage. In the Hollywood of old, he certainly would have, but now, everyone is in it for themselves, and constantly ranking themselves against everyone they see. I fear the full couch late show trope, in America, no matter how charismatic and engaging the host, is doomed to fail, and ultimately be radically altered by clueless network execs, or canceled altogether. Which, hey, I'd like to see Corden back on Doctor Who. I would be interested in how he and the Doctor's relationship would change with this new regeneration. Speaking of Who, I heard a rumor that can't be true: something about Captain Jack and River Song in a spin-off. I only repeat it so I can wish on it. Because so cool!
Oh wow, have I always been the Queen of opinion like this? I don't know i I like it. Hm. Doc wants me to calm down in general. Nope. As soon as I get my soup right, I'm off and running again.