AM 125 Nuvigil, 10 Adderall
afternoon 10 Adderall
PM 10 Zyprexa, 20 Prozac
I have brought him various pieces of artwork over the years, like this one and this one, and twelve pages of things I have written, including this bit, about psychiatrists liking to make us cry.
(He claims he doesn't.)
I handed him the stack of essays, somewhat reluctantly, and watched him read them for an agonizing twenty minutes. He chuckled here and there, and knowingly nodded his head a few times. Afterwards, he wanted to talk about them. He asked questions about each piece, and asked if he could keep them.
I have also brought him some of my word art blocks, and finally decided to give him one, as a gift, after he expressed an interest in having one.
That's all I could think.
Shoot. Shoot. Shoot.
What in Zeus's name block should I give him?
I decided on this one.
I felt a bit shy as I handed it to him, but he smiled as he thanked me, and walked over to the shelf and gently set it down where it is now on display.
He thought it was relevant to our work.
"Our work" or "the work" he references often, usually with a comforting tone while claiming it is hard. Which it is.
After he said that, I thought, yes, that is true. That is, indeed, the work.
Always striving for my curiosity to be greater than my fear...and feeling grateful that I have him to help.
He never says your work, but always ours. We can't expect ourselves to do this alone. If you don't have a Dr. Crazy, please, please, pretty please, with a cherry on top, keep looking. This work is meant to be shared.
Until next time...