I’m not sure if it’s because I’m getting older or because I’ve become almost impossibly boring, but here’s what’s revving my engine lately:
1) I finally remembered to buy Claritin (fake Claritin) at Walgreens after work.
I’m excited to experience 24-hour relief from the construction zone that is my nasal passageway.
2) I’m going to replace the memory foam mattress pad I threw away when I moved in September. I didn’t think I’d miss it but I feel tired basically all the time now. The reason it helps me is because I have, in my opinion, a massively oversized ribcage. When I’m underweight, my ribs jut out from my body like side-mounted camel humps and they look, through a t-shirt, sort of like saggy boobs. My ribcage also digs into my mattress when I sleep on my stomach, which is every night, and it makes sleep uneasy.
I am excited about being tired only most of the time again.
3) I’m determined to find a therapist. I’ve never been to one, even though I’m real fucked up in my brain and have been for like… 20 years? Give or take. I can’t really say why I never took the plunge—I remember my father disparaging of therapists when I was a kid in a sort of Draperian way, and that stuck with me. I’ve also always harbored this secret, psychiatrist-worthy fear that my therapist will laugh at me. So. There will be… a lot to unpack. But I could use a sounding board these days.
I am excited about getting my head shrunk.
4) There’s other stuff I’m excited about, obviously—the Bulls, my sister’s upcoming wedding, summertime hijinks, the soccer league I joined—but in my dusky apartment, the wind blowing like a jet engine against the windows, these are the things that cup a hand around the candle. Some pills, some foam, and the prospect of peace of mind.