Archive for March 2013

I don’t really have time to blog today, since I actually have something nice planned 🙂 . But I thought I’d post this anyway, because if not today, then when? I can’t post it in the middle of summer, although now that I mention it, the idea seems funny enough. And add something about melting chocolate and melting hopes and melting hops…

OK, I’ll stop now.


Bet you knew that was coming: yes! Bunnies can get depression. And what does depression look like in bunnies? According to the all-knowing Internet, “Just like other mammals, bunnies can too fall into depression. It is a sort of psychiatric disorder, in which one is not interested for anything, and the one blames himself for everything bad that happens.”

I had no idea rabbits can develop a sense of guilt, but you learn something new every day, I guess. But wait! This is really interesting: if their depression is identical to depression in human, and indeed it is a well known fact that bunnies are really short humans with long ears, which justifies using them as lab animals to test such vital products as wrinkle cream, then I could be on the verge of a breakthrough! I just need to check what cures depression in rabbits, apply the method to humans, and cure depression world wide!

Everybody will be happy and I will be even happier because millions of sufferers will come to this blog to read about the cure, and then will come back to tell me how this changed their lives, and will name their pet rabbits after me, and perhaps make me a statue out of carrots.

Now, let’s see, what’s the magical cure for depression in rabbits???





Studies show that coffee helps alleviate depression, and that coffee brings about depression. Well, thank you very much, Scientists, this is helpful.

I have done some experiments myself, and I have found that drinking coffee too late in the afternoon will keep you awake at night and you will lay on your bed thinking of how you have nothing to look forward to for tomorrow, next week, or the rest of your life, which is admittedly a wee bit depressing.

On the other hand, drinking coffee in a nice café with a good friend is definitely a powerful lift-me-up. And yet I suspect that in the combination going out/good friend/coffee it is not the element “coffee” that really makes the difference.

I wanted to test this theory of mine, and resolved that next time I go to a nice coffee place with a good friend I will order an ugli fruit squash and see if it works as well as a steaming espresso; but although I think I can dig out a place that serves ugli fruit squash, apparently there’s no finding a good friend who would sit and drink with me, not even in the interest of science. Bummer.

One thing is certain though: coffee might act as an anti-depressant by providing you with a purpose in life, and that’s something.



My BFF who said she wasn’t interested in seeing me anymore didn’t just leave me there all alone and friendless: she was so kind as to arrange a contact to a paid surrogate friend, i.e. a therapist who is supposed to be affordable. The idea is, this proves she just didn’t abandon me the first time I had a problem. I wish I had known this was an acceptable solution when SHE was grieving because her long-time boyfriend had left her, or was going in and out of hospitals and I would keep her company or run to the hospital in the middle of the night. I could have just said “I am not interested in playing nurse, but look, here is the number of an affordable nurse, am I not a good friend?”

Anyway – I contacted this BFF asking for more details, got insulted, counted to 12 bazillions in order not to explode, devised an e-mail which was a masterpiece of diplomacy and restraint and asked again, and finally got the number of this therapist, and my BFF said she would call ahead.

I psyched myself all weekend long, and then called this therapist to get a first appointment.

Rrrrrrrrrrrring….. rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrring…. rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrringgg…. riiiiiiiiingggg….


Me: Hello?


Me: Hello?

RFH: Office of Dr. So-and-so, yes?

Me: Yes, hi, my name is AS; I got your number from Ms BFF, she called you last friday. I’m calling to get a first appointment.

RFH: Who??

Me: My name is AS; I got your number from Ms BFF, she called you last friday. I’m calling to get a first appointment.

RFH: Never heard of her. And we don’t accept any new patients.

Me: But this should already have been arranged…

RFH: We aren’t accepting patients.

Me: Oh. But… I will ask again Ms BFF then, because this had already been agreed.

RFH: Yes, inform yourself. Bye.

I hung up and was really put off. Already I’m against the whole idea of being depressed. And I know that this is not going to solve my problem. Plus I had to prostitute myself to get that number, and I was really nervous at the very idea of calling, and… I don’t even get an appointment??

But now, a little later, with a clearer mind, I get it! It was all a test! Even I know that for therapy to work, you must WANT to do it. So they can’t make it too easy for you! It MUST be that! So the Receptionst From Hell was only playing a part!

Either that, or the real receptionst has been knocked out cold and who answered me was really one of the patients?

We’ll see what the future brings me. To you, it brings a joke I stole from the Internet:

Psychiatrist to his nurse: “Just say we’re very busy. Don’t keep saying ‘It’s a madhouse.'”


I had a dream.

Last night I dreamed that I was with a friend of mine (that one who made me invisible, shall we call him Blasted Thing, or BT for short) – apparently, I had managed to get hold of him! I wish I knew how, but I seem to have missed the previous episodes. Anyway, we were in a mall or something, and Anne Hathaway (??? What was she doing in a mall dressed as a cigar lady?) approached me and started screaming IT IS YOUR BIRTHDAYYYYYYY! And there were glitter or balloons or confetti or flower petals, I’m not sure. I patiently explained to her that she was mistaken, that it wasn’t my birthday at all, and she looked so disappointed. And then the BT butted in and said, “But you know what, we will pretend and do as if it were your birthday, so what would you like to do?” I was speechless with joy! And I was thinking of all the things we could do, like doing breakfast, or lunch in a nice place, or dinner, or cinema, or a walk, or a museum, or just sit there and stare in each other’s eyes, and I opened my lips to utter my wish, and…

…and then some real life neighbour decided that since it was kind of dawn-ish already it was the perfect time to drill the wall and wake me up, and lo-and-behold, I was speechless no more!

I am sure that they had gotten their new power drill for their birthday and were anxious to try it. And I bet they were hanging another present they had gotten, a picture. In all likelihood, the picture of a duck. Incidentally, guess what? Ducks can get depressed, too, and then they’re Depressed Ducks, which is so nicely alliterative.

By the way, did you know that? Depressed people dream more. Something about worrying more, and desperately trying to fix the cause for anxiety with dreams, and that’s why they wake up exhausted.

I must say, I haven’t noticed any difference lately, and my dreams were always, from what I hear from other persons, especially vivid and detailed; most people don’t even believe me, when I tell them some of my most elaborate dreams.

What has changed though, is that nightmares are still nightmares, but now happy dreams are nightmares, too. Because I always dream that no, that I was so silly, and that it was all a misunderstanding, and that everything is alright, and then I wake up all relieved and realise it was just a dream. And really this is worse than a regular nightmare, where at least you wake up to find out that the monster who chased you through the whole of Dreamville doesn’t really exist, and you are safely in your bed, and any monsters under it would have died aeons ago, choked by the ferocious dust bunnies.

I guess that waking up in a murderous rage like today makes for a welcome change.


I’ve initiated the steps to try therapy, and I’m rather nervous about it; for example, what’s the dress code? Or: is writing I LOVE FREUD  on my nails a tasteful nod to the father of psychoanalysis, or a bit over the top? I’m leaning more towards “tasteful nod”.

Will I need to lie on a couch? I hope that’s only stereotypical. I don’t know what Freud was thinking: put people at ease? Really?? Why not have them sit on a toilet? Stand on a bucket in a room infested by snakes? Balance on a rope spanning the Niagara Falls?

Oh by the way! I can’t remember anything about my potty training! The only related story told in the family is that once when I was a toddler I was pushing a toy wheelbarrow in the yard, and my father encouraged me: “Push!” and I stopped and looked at him so totally puzzled, ??????????, and he insisted: “Come on, push!”, so I squatted and started to strain and AGES afterwards they still make fun of me for being an obedient little girl and trusting my daddy.

Talking about my parents, is the doctor going to convince me that my parents are at fault or that I had this horrible childhood? My brother was in therapy for a while, and he came out of it positive that just about everybody else had mistreated him; that his problems started when my mother would buy a big ice cream cone for herself but two small ones for us children, and he clearly remembers us walking downtown with such unfairly sized ice creams, and that being oh-so-traumatic. I am older than him, so I know that mum used to give us the choice :for take-away lunch we could have either pizza , or ice cream. And we would always choose the pizza, and she for herself the ice cream. So we kids had pizza first, and then she would buy her  ice cream, but feeling sorry for us she always ended up buying us a small ice cream, too. Little knowing that this would come back to haunt her so many years afterwards.

After the therapy my brother has started to come to my parents with such accusations, and mum felt all guilty and confused, and started doing therapy, too – ah, now I see why therapists might want to do that!

So am I going in convinced I have great parents, and coming out with the idea that everybody is out to get me, so I need therapy not only for depression but for paranoia, too??

Anyway, I have little hope this will bring anything. The therapist cannot solve my problem, and can at most only convince me that I don’t care about anything, which is the attitude that seems to work with the people I know who are the happiest. I hope she can do that quickly, because I think only the test period is going to be affordable, and after that I will have to either give up or find another solution, or, if I’m hooked, to sell a kidney.

I am really only looking for someone to talk to without being a burden to the friends I have left, and driving them away. Isn’t it sad, that you have to pay for that?

So, I will make an appointment; there will be a waiting list, which means that I have the time to find a suitable way to break the ice. I was thinking I could use for inspiration this joke I have found in Internet:

First session: The patient settles on the couch, and the psychiatrist begins the session:

“I’m not aware of your problems, so perhaps you should start at the beginning”.

“Well… in the beginning, I created the Heavens and the Earth”.

This should grab her attention.


I have officially become invisible.

I can still see myself, but I have grown invisible to others. I realised it when I tried to contact the Blasted Thing, one of the persons I most care about: some three weeks after the last time we had a brief coffee, I suggested via Skype we could have coffee again. I was met with stony silence. Not even a “Sorry, I don’t have time – Don’t call us, we’ll call you – I’d love to, but right now I am tied to a solitary rock on the slopes of Mount Doom and having my soles tickled by a disgruntled orc, so that would be inconvenient”. Nothing. Would it have made the universe implode, dropping a couple of lines?
So, not to be too hassling, I patiently waited for two more weeks, and then asked, “Speech is silver? 😉 “. Reply: nothing, nada, nichts, rien, niente.

Invisible. How cool is that? So what can I do with my new-found superpower? I know I am supposed to fight crime, but how boring, isn’t every single superhero doing that already? And I’m not very heroic in general, I am more the mischievous type. Plus, frankly, what would I look like, in one of those spandex superhero costumes? Oh, right, I forgot, I would look like nothing – and yet I think I would still manage to be embarrassed.

Anyway, first of all, bye bye, personal grooming, pretty clothes and make up and jewelry! No longer needed. I can eat all the chocolate I want and not care about that pesky zit on the tip of my nose!

Working will no longer be necessary, I guess. I could keep my job and I can think of quite a few new career opportunities, as a magician, entertainer, special effects specialist, or I could haunt castles and palaces and get paid by the touristic promoters, but I’m not sure handling with money is feasible at all, or anyway I will need much less.

I can go and live at Ikea, or just squat anywhere. Luxury hotel. Or big villa with a swimming pool. Might even manage to drive the owners out and get the place all for myself (note to self – get the keys BEFORE you go all poltergeist on them: you might be invisible, but that does not mean you can walk through walls).

For food I can walk into the very best restaurants and taste a bit of everything. I can also sneak into the kitchen and arrange the food on the plates in funny shapes and make the vegetables scream and plead for their life and totally freak the cook and waiters out.

I can go to the cinema, museums, and travel anywhere for free.

I can make my riderless bike the stuff of LEGENDS!

And then there will be the pranks. I will whisper into people’s ears. I will pull their hair. I will pretend I am their good conscience and scold them for all the meanness they dish out on a regular basis.

I will get to the computer of the BT, recall our chat and reply to myself , “Of course, I’d love to do coffee!” and see if this really makes the universe implode.


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