I want candy

Fucking New Yorker magazine. I've grown to hate New Yorker magazine. When I was much younger I tried to read and enjoy it, although it never had anything to do with anyone so gauche as to live on the west coast. It seemed so sophisticated and intellectual, just like I wanted to be. Now I just associate it with shrinks' offices. I have never ever sat in a waiting room for a shrink that didn't have New Yorker magazine available, sometimes nothing else.

Even a long time ago when I was in the county hospital for psychological services, shall we say, not entirely under my own will, the New Yorker was there. I was in with the gangbangers and drug od's and some off the planet loonies. I was desperate for something to take my mind off my current hell and begged a nurse for something, anything to read. One of the nurses took pity on me and dug around until she found an old – you guessed it, New Yorker magazine. I doubt any of the crack heads had brought it in, maybe New Yorker magazine just grows like mushrooms whenever shrinks are around.

Then there are other rich-people magazines. One of my shrinks, the talking shrink, must have someone in her office who flies private planes. There are magazines for private pilots there. Someone else must build wooden boats, there's a book about wooden sailboats there. Do they really think that people coming in to talk about their problems really are interested in the joys of flying a private plane? Do you think it's calming for people who might be pretty fucked up to sit waiting in your lobby, trying not to be impatient or worried, to think about your expensive hobbies and wonder how much of your wooden sail boat you're making from the fees they're paying you?

Of course, there's Highlights magazine for kids. All doctors who treat kids in any way in this country have this one. It must come with the AMA fees. I used to love this when I was six or seven. I especially used to love Goofus and Gallant. If you never read Highlights, Goofus and Gallant were brief lessons in manners and good behavior offered up in a cartoon. Oh, I wanted so badly to be Gallant, so noble and upright. The grownups all just adored good Gallant. I always wanted the grownups to adore me.

Maybe that's part of my problem.

I have plenty of time to observe waiting rooms at the moment. I've got two shrinks. I've got a psychologist, Dr T, and a psychiatrist, Dr. H. A talking doctor and a pill doctor. There's almost a complete split now between the two types, psychologists can't prescribe (they're not full MDs) and so psychiatrists do nothing but.

I had my second visit with Dr H, the pill doctor two days ago. I like a lot about the ADD medication, but I'm jittery when I come down, my blood pressure is through the roof, and I have even more trouble getting to sleep at night.

Oh, and my libido has crashed almost totally. That's from the anti-depressants. Sex is certainly no less enjoyable, and I can, ahem, perform completely fine, but the urgency is gone. When I was a teenager, I'd jerk off anytime I could get a spare minute and a modicum of privacy. I'd have welcomed a little less compulsion about it then. Now, I'm out near the other end of the scale. I'd like my libido back please.

So the pill doctor suggested I try Buspar, which is anti-anxiety and sometimes counteracts the low libido from the anti-depressants. And, what the hell, we changed to a new thing for ADD, I've got Adderall for that now instead of Concerta. Maybe it leaves the system a little more quickly so I can sleep better.

Early reports are, the Buspar calms me down at night and actually helps a lot with the insomnia. It seems to even bring my blood pressure down a bit. I feel a little slowed down in the day, until I take my Adderall. The two together balance out pretty well. We'll see how it settles over time.

Lucky, lucky me. If this all works out, my moods and concentration and energy levels will be carefully engineered and tuned. I'll be able to be more myself, more positive, more effective. I'll be a happier person, a better employee, a better citizen even. Totally Gallant.

I'll be nothing at all like the people who try to reach their own personal balance using crack cocaine, pot, alcohol, or xanax smuggled from Mexico. No, not at all. Those people are out of control. Those people have problems. Those people are illegal. I'd freak out to find myself dependent on non-prescription medicine, I *do* freak out when I think I'm drinking too much. I'm afraid of turning into Goofus.

Me, I'm more legal than Rush Limbaugh. I'm all analyzed and prescribed, insurance covers it all. It's a whole different thing. Really.