Moving Day

I'm halfway out of tape, but only 1/3 of the way through the boxes you brought me. You are a physicist, so I know you based your calculations on some sort of formula. I am trying to convince my myself you have developed a mathematical formula to predict laziness. 15*3³foot boxes do something 30*1.5³foot boxes take the squiggly doo from subject's most recent GAF score equals n(100)ft of packing tape. When tape is gone subject may stop, for this is all she is capable of.

Please remember light bulbs and the bolt cutters*. Just don't get pulled over on the way up, or you will get thrown in jail as a suspect for grand larceny and presumed meth addict. I know because I've seen it on C*O*P*S. I swear

love,
E

*For getting out the emergency exit landlord keeps closed w/ padlock in memoriam to Old Lady Leary.

N.B. I did not really send this letter

At the drugstore, Behind the counter

I spot a sign hanging from the cigarette display: Wanted For Homicide on 82nd St. . . I see these sort of wanted/missing posters by the multitude in every store window, each time I leave the house. The only days I don't hear gunfire are those when I stay inside with the A/C on. It wouldn't be so shocking were it not obvious that it came from someone's home printer.

I'll say it again: "You can do better, Chicago!" Sure, I see the occasional mini-patrol of brave bike cops riding up the main drag in broad daylight. That's fabulous. But one block South I am mugged, and 1 block North I'm assaulted. I suppose I'm lucky that I'm not a laser-printed flyer, yet all I feel is disgust that the officials find it so easy to ignore millions of real people.

I think I need a scoliosis check, because this city is so crooked it tilts.

Why do passers by feel it is within the realm of polite society to comment on my mental status? Telling me to smile seems akin to asking a random woman when she's due. There's simply too much emotional payload to be editorializing like that. When it comes right down to it, popping out of the blue to tell Anonymous Flat Affect Girl "Cheer up, it's not that bad" is statistically more dangerous. Let's face it, pregnancy is generally easier for the lay person to diagnose than mental illness.

Still, that's no excuse. Look, I've been on (at least) an SSRI anti-depressant for most of the past 8 years. This is emotional botox. The stuff is still going on somewhere inside, but I am frozen on there surface. I don't spontaneously smile at all and I rarely laugh. I can rarely cry anymore- only when I'm exhausted, angry and hopeless. In other words, only over nothing, over myself. I certainly can't cry over books or movies anymore. Worse still, I struggle to mourn family and friends who have died over these years. It's like needing to yawn for ages without ever managing to get the oxygen to satisfy it.

I have flattened out so much that one moron actually diagnosed me with schizophrenia on the basis of all my negative symptoms. But the truth is that between the drugs and the depression, I no longer have any interests nor can I sustain anyone else's interest. I've also slowed down and pulled back from society quite a bit, so it's pretty unlikely that I would ever manage this entire comeback in a timely manner in real life. So I'm posting it here, for nobody to see it.

Don't fucking tell me to smile. Especially in line at the food pantry.

@#(@)*$! Medical Residents. . .

July is the Cruelest Month

Just what is it about being a million dollars in debt and spending 4 years working 80 hours a week for minimum wage that makes it so simple to peel back a that counter-tranference you psych residents have oozed into us? Come on Dr. N_____. You don't really want to take your boards, you know you don't. You've been meeting with me since February, and hence have proof positive that high-stakes interpersonally-focused, relatively abstractionist professions are very very bad for your health.

And you were such a great shrink. But really, it's all about you. Take care of yourself. According to my life clock, I will surely have 4 months' access to another good psychiatrist in 2014.

Thanks, Congress

We were more than overdue for a hike in the minimum wage. The last time you passed an action on this, I was living in a state that adhered to the federal guidelines and slinging sandwiches for 4.25 an hour. So I can certainly appreciate the difference this will make.

Can you do all of us little folks living below the poverty line a favor next time, though? Keep it a secret until the law goes into effect. That way retail won't have several months advance to start gouging us on household items before we start collecting your spare change.

You Can Do Better, Chicago.

Today's Haul:
The Dry-
2 gallons powdered skim milk
2 pounds dried pinto beans/ unidentified agricultural product
15 oz. toasted oat cereal
9.5 oz. triscuits
Boxed pasta salad (pasta/ seasoning packet)
4 granola bars
The Canned-
32 oz. grapefruit juice
16 oz. sweet peas
9 oz. sweet potatoes
15 oz. refried beans
6 oz. chunk light tuna in water
10 oz. cream of mushroom soup
10 oz. (Campbells!) tomato soup
The Wet-
16 oz. 3% lean ground "meat"
2 sausage links
1 personal sausage pizza

That's it. One hundred percent of everything a single adult individual receives from the food pantry for a month. No wonder others in line headed up the street to another church to hit up the one that was open from 9 am after collecting their bag tickets this morning.

This is only funny because I'm anorexic and need less than 1,100 calories a day to stay alive. While I have to give you bonus points for the variety this month, you'll never see them as I must deduct for ignorance. Basal metabolic rate doesn't account for class difference.

I am currently attempting to make a noodle kugel in my electric skillet.

If I succeed, I expect to be named to some largely ceremonial executive (but perk-rich) position within the North American Association for the Advancement of Destitute Bulimics.