Couple things to report this morning.
1. Today is the centennial celebration of LSU's participation in the Federal Government's Depository Program. Yes, I realize that this was the single dullest statement I have ever committed to writing. But there really are some funny things they've pulled out of the dusty, never visited stacks at my job. I mean, come on, it's the U.S. government, just imagine their take on education, the workforce, nuclear warfare...anything you just spoofed in your head, it's not a joke, they really did print it. There's a pamphlet cheerfully titled: "Everything you ever wanted to know about transporting nuclear waste"; on our table of army documents from WWII is one called 'Do you want your wife to work after the war?' that goes meticulously through why men should be real men and take their jobs back when they get home. Women are inherently inferior, after all, and shouldn't be taking jobs away from our men who need them. Especially unmarried women, what do they think they're doing, they don't even have a family to support! I am not kidding you, it's in there.
But there's also a lot of things that are just genuinely worth looking at: collections of the art owned and displayed in Washington, a history of the Capitol that's really fascinating, and most importantly, the transcripts of what the hell actually goes on over there. On these shelves just over to my left as I'm typing are the Congressional records, which I have sadly never even looked through (they're quite boring looking tomes, not shiny at all, and no cartoons on the cover). There are literally hundreds of things printed up about FEMA, hurricane Katrina, and disaster plans that I'm willing to bet might actually help a few people, people who are supposed to know these things and don't, that never get read, just sit here in the LSU basement along with all of the social security information and handy reference guides to tax laws. Let's not kid ourselves, once I leave this job I'm never coming down here again, but someone should. Not me, but someone.
2. Tuesday was my first appointment with Dr. Benjamin Hayes at the Student Health Center. I was terrified; after years of denying and hiding and fighting my depression and anxiety I was going to get help. I made the big step, called someone, admitted that this life I live day after day sucks; it's not me, the girl who wakes up every morning and gives herself a migraine worrying and avoids going out to dinner with friends is not me. I nearly didn't go, I couldn't face up to talking about all kinds of things that I knew would sound ridiculous the minute I opened my mouth, he would shake his head and tell me it was nothing. But I went, took a deep breath, and opened the door. And I never got a word in edgewise.
He spent all of our 20 minute meeting telling me what he thought the issues with treating depression were, explained that I would only see him three times this semester, and suggested I get this certain book and start his weekly anxiety management classes. I feel cheated of my justly earned chance to celebrate my mental illness. I wanted to talk about my mother, to cry about my years of shyness and how I've been scarred from rejection by my first love at age 13. I walked out feeling more alone than ever; even the man getting paid to help me isn't helping! I'm going to the classes, going to give it a try, because there's no use in going backwards now, but gosh...
I guess that's all for now, class in a few minutes. I was hoping to have this mess all sorted by the time my next story was due in fiction writing. I mean, really, depression-induced writer's block is hardly going to help me graduate in December, and I doubt Bennett would take it as a valid excuse.
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