Drug Me Into The Blogosphere

I keep trying to write about nipples and somehow my breasts hurt, my conscience hurts, I dunno if I have my facts straight. They're popping up everywhere! First, I have my-daughter's-getting-older-fear, which is utterly moronic since I already have a teenager and I enjoy being with my kids as they grow. I have no nostalgia for babydom. That was then, this is now. It's like remembering my dinner before it was cooked. It looked good, but now it's really something.

Then, and this has nothing to do with nipples, Becca and I were discussing the obsessive nature of blogging while our - yikes - growing daughters ran around a restaurant. (Doesn't it seem absurd that restaurant isn't spelled restaraunt? Really.) Anyway, blogging is obsessive because you read you write you read, and then sometimes you wonder: how the hell did this woman have the time to write 500 pages and include excellent graphics to boot? Meanwhile, I keep going back to my nipples blog.

I was staring at my nipples blog. I was staring at my nipples, too, but that's another piece altogether. I was well-aware that I am depressed, recovering from not-so-new-moan-ya, and I couldn't get to the root of the nipples problem, if you'll pardon the image. They're not really, roots, right, they're lactation paths, or milk ducts. Little rivers that sprout vitamin drink - I think it's Odwalla - to tiny tikes. And the writing had utterly - udderly (how cheap, I cannot help myself) distracted me from my predicament. Which is, truly, that my sleep, my eating, my everything is quite depressed, despite the meds the therapy and the many supportive people around.

It's not the run-of-the-therapy-mill supports, though. It's the he-man psycho-pharm guy, Dr. Rugged. Every time I see him, I am better. He's so knowledgeable about drug interactions and all this type of fancy crap, and his venn diagrams are to die for. He has massive shoulders like he forgot to take his football pads out and I find it strangely comforting: the big man will say multi-syllable words and understand my little Jewish references, an added bonus. So I visualize Dr. Rugged, and instead of the blue or the yellow, I'm thinking the little cube shape. Blogozene! If you're one of the two people reading this, you may be on it. And it's doing the trick. The side-effects are a little OCD-ish, but what the hell. I can actually write on this stuff. I'm hallucinating a little, but it's mostly text, words like "comments," "feminism," and "links." The colors are quite intense, greens and purples for the most part. I've lost my appetite and my fingers are a little numb, but I think it's worth it for the distraction from non-text, non-screen life. I'm almost ready for nipples.