Guess who got woken up by a ConEd truck, had/is having a panic attack, and has to teach at eight? Two thumbs, also.
The truck was extremely loud. What is that, I asked Sugar. Some kind of tank, she said. TANK TANK TANK TANK. Clarification: she meant “a utility truck with a tank of some kind on it.” Not the “water carriers for the Tsar” kind of tank. Oh. How was I to assume that, on a small, residential street? I mean. Which is more likely?
So now I have tea and what I am trying very hard to tell myself is not a heart attack.
I suppose, dear readers, that it gets old, hearing how crazy I am. It gets old being this crazy, believe me. I imagine it is frustrating, seeing me just sit here falling to pieces. For the record, I am trying to get better, I really am. Having spent the entire summer trying to get a therapist to call me back, I finally have an intake appointment with one on Thursday. She doesn’t take my insurance or have a doctorate (which I toyed with adding to my requirements) or specialize in CBT, though she does do it.
You know what she does really well, though? Answer requests for contact. I am at a loss to describe as ethical the many people (and clinics!) I’ve encountered this summer whose voice messages and websites promise a response within X days who simply never call or write back at all. It leaves a person wondering what exactly she did wrong in that message/email/web form.
In the midst a very slow-paced and frustrating* series of emails with the first clinic that did (eventually) write back, a friend recommended her person, whom gmail pointed out was someone who had written a long and kind response back a hundred years ago when I had posted on the neighborhood parent board seeking PPD information for my back pocket, just in case I got it, what with the birth PTSD, the history of mental foibles, the suddenly dead mother. (Good thing I dodged that bullet! Hollow laugh.) She responded quickly and kindly. So here’s hoping.
Meanwhile, I have an appointment with my internist tomorrow (today!) for more xanax and some kind of assurance that I don’t have heart disease, actually. Naturally, the convergence of these two sensible appointments and the always-stressful start of the school year has led my brain to go completely bananas.
*several emails in, punctuated by too much time: “we have clinicians at the following levels/prices. Tell me your schedule and what leve you are interested in.” Here are several potential days and swaths of time. I would like level Spendy or Rather Spendy. EPIC PAUSE OF DAYS AND DAYS. “Hi, I work at level Extremely Spendy. When are you available?”
IN other news, the kids and I went to the zoo yesterday. It was hot. So hot the night herons were sitting in the water on their bony little butts, which just looks silly.