why does a fish need a bicycle anyway?
One way or another I can't seem to get beyond putting things on my head for this theme. This brilliant (hah) idea came to me as I lay on the bed having a short nanna nap this afternoon. Mostly I was thinking about whether or not I've been jilted by my psychiatrist, who seems to have vanished into the ether. Maybe she's having a break for some reason, but various temporary receptionists have let slip little snippets of conflicting information. So maybe, I'll have to go through the process of finding a new doctor, of telling my story all over again, of settling into another treatment regime. Tedious. Or maybe she's moved offices, I've fallen through the cracks because of two cancelled appointments (her not me) and I'll catch up with her soon enough. If this is the case, how do I act? Like I'm not pissed off that no-one has told me what's going on? Pleased that she's OK and that I don't have to start with someone new?
The other thread of thought running through my head, as I looked out into the cold afternoon, and felt all jilted and teary was that maybe I could just wean myself of the drugs and abandon the whole concept of therapy. That I was normal before, and I can be normal again. Dangerous thoughts, because I'm feeling just well enough to start getting complacent. And if that's not absurd, tell me what is.
More of the absurd here.