You may be experiencing Paxil Menstrual Syndrome…

Sometimes you know you’re smart, but you’re not QUITE “friend who’s almost done med school and has more experience with psych meds” smart…

“So, hey, what are the odds that 5-ish days without Paxil have made me feel like I have PMS on crack?”

“Very high. Paxil withdrawal blows.”

“Ha, yep, I kinda knew that, just wanted to confirm. 🙂 I’ll go fill the prescription. Jesus, Brain, you could’ve just asked for Starbucks — that would’ve gotten me to Target, and hence their pharmacy, minus the 5 days of internal screaming at EVERY mundane life obligation.”

“LOL. Why’d you stop taking it?”

“Oh, just because I’m ridiculous and ran out. They keep letting us work from home so I keep not leaving the house.”

Christ. I’ll go to Target, man, damn. Ahem… tomorrow, probably…

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Schrodinger’s Awkward

I’ve been invited to another gathering (New Year’s Day) where I may or may not run into Guy I Dated for a Minute.

This is, like…Schrodinger’s Awkward.

I wrote a quick email essentially saying, “We cool?” It’s probably unnecessary — I’d like to think we’re both adults and could exist in the same room for a few hours. But…fuck it, I am a child, and I need to know. I’m terrible at uncertainty.

EDIT: He replied, said we were “definitely friends” and that he wouldn’t be at the New Year’s party. *nod* Cool. Done and done.

Dude…NO.

Maybe 2 years ago I deleted a college classmate from Facebook because we’d never really talked other than that time he man-splained cell phone plans to me. I get enough of that shit from the men (and women) in my family, thanks. Boy, bye.

I think today is the…third (fourth?) time since then he’s sent me a new friend request. And once there was a direct message asking where I’d gone.

The first few times I denied his request, I felt kinda mean, because “It’s just Facebook,” but now…nah. I feel pretty OK about this choice. And about blocking him so he can’t do it again.

Bitch-Babies ‘R’ Us

Tonight I’m going to a party where I may or may not see Guy I Dated for a Minute, and I officially hate my brain and its tendency to overthink. Mostly because it’s overthinking the fact that HE’s likely not overthinking a goddamn thing.

I should mention: I am fully aware he tapped — heh — into some things in my brain he couldn’t POSSIBLY have known about. I could’ve behaved differently, so I know it’s not totally his fault that he’s a giant bitch-baby.

Come for frivolity, stay for…more frivolity.

I just admitted to not knowing about a particular political issue, and my brain kicked in with, “You know one day your friends are gonna realize how stupid you are and not be your friends anymore, right?”

*sigh* Yes, Brain. You’ve mentioned.

But also? Fuck you, Brain. My friends know I’m the Joey, and they love me anyway — no one’s expecting me to blow their mind with my thoughts on Hamas.

Broken Brain Blues

Post-therapy text to friends:

“BTW, I just got out of therapy and you wanna hear some horseshit? Not only does she want me to be happy and well adjusted, turns out she can’t just ask me a couple questions and fix 40 years of shit in 45 minutes. It’s, like…long-term work? That *I* have to figure out with her help? This is just like all this alleged ‘exercise’ people want me to be doing. UGH.”

P.S. It’s a joke, I knew what I was getting into. But it IS also bullshit that I drew the short straw in the brain department.

“That’s what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.”

I just noticed that Guy I Dated for a Minute has RSVP’ed “yes” to a mutual friend’s holiday party I also said “yes” to.

Whatever, fuckface — I ain’t scared.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to spend the next 3 weeks getting pretty and practicing ignoring douchebags. Because that’s what Jesus would do.

(I’ve realized recently that whole thing messed me up more than it should have. But screw it, that’s what therapy’s for. Let’s dance, Psyche.)