As I got to the office this morning and turned on my computer, Google informed me that today is Sigmund Freud’s 160th birthday. I think we can all agree that old Siggy missed the point on many of his ideas, but you have to give the guy credit for being a trailblazer in the world of crazy.
There seems to be a lot of extra crazy in the world these days. I’m not even talking about the horrendous stuff you see on the news: wars, murders, wildfires, elections. I’m talking bona fide mental illness. While I was home yesterday safely telecommuting, it seems some old black dude showed up in my office’s conference center, unbuttones his shirt, dropped trou, and put his hands against a window while he screamed for a long time. He scared the stuffing out of one of our administrative assistants. Not cool, old naked black guy. Not cool at all. It turns out another crazy young black guy came and did the same thing a week ago, only he managed to keep his pants up. No, I don’t work at 55 Central Park West.
Today has started off crazy. I woke at 4:30 to pee, and found my son asleep on the couch buried in pillows. No biggie. That’s not crazy at my house. I curled up on the loveseat to minimize disruption when the alarm went off. I shouldn’t have bothered. Stella joined me about 15 minutes later. As I was fumbling in the dark for an extra blanket, I felt that tell-tale wetness that can only be cat piss. Dammit dammit dammit. I really am ready for at least one of these animals to complete this leg of the circle of life.
Cat piss cleaned up, the next 35 minutes were a swirl of refereeing my children, as Stella was deliberately provoking Felix by snatching away the Precious du Jour – in this case a tiny plastic purple bucket filled with tiny shells. Stella has decided that taking meds is helpful but for chumps. We don’t do the capsules anymore (due to gagging), and she’s decided that the tiny white spheres within the capsules are no good either. The damn things don’t help matters by not dissolving and sinking like stones to the bottom of a glass of chocolate milk. I guess my next approach will be mixing the white spheres in ice cream. But y’all know how that goes: you can’t give just one kid ice cream, even if it is just a spoonful. Dammit dammit dammit.
Not one of my children cared enough to give me a hug or kiss goodbye as I left this morning. That is kind of crazy. I normally get shown a bit more love than that. My husband is driving me crazy with his crazy – anxiety over having to select furniture for his new office. Do you know what I would give to have a proper office with anything other than drab gray cubicle walls shared with an asshole who cuts his fingernails at work and gets more personal phone calls in a day than I did during my entire teenage existence? I love my husband, but sometimes he needs to shut the F up. I haven’t even had coffee yet.
But it’s Friday. I’m going to try to dust the crazy off and move on. Now I just have to decide who to let out of the box today – Id or Superego.
Happy birthday, Sigmund.