Every single time I leave the room, either at home or at work (I don’t say at play, because really, I just don’t have the time or the energy, and BTW, I’m kind of bitter and twisted because of the whole relationship fiasco that is part and parcel is my life.) I walk into a perception that is convoluted I wish I had a talking coyote to show me the way back.
No, Writer Chick hasn’t completely slipped off of the stack of crazy crackers on which she has perched lo these many months. Notice I said perception. It’s just the way my brain is processing things. I eventually get there, but it takes a moment. And yes it is exhausting, and because I always sort of look like I know what I’m doing, some folk begin to question their own veracity because of the spacey vacuous look on my face. (This happened twice last week. It was kind of funny, but stopped being so laughy when I realized that I am an educator and library lady and I should instill confidence and quench the people’s thirst for knowledge, so I shouldn’t be amused by my own glassy expression.
Of course, I may be suffering from a Dissociative Disorder. This is so new spell check doesn’t recognize it!
I don’t mean to mock and that is certainly not my intent. I know that there are legitimate mental illnesses that are under reported and under treated and it is a great responsibility to be healthy and well particularly if you are going to be interacting with the public.
I truly believe that slapping a label on anything gives the label-ee that opportunity to fully check out because now there is an excuse. Which, if you are suffering from an detachment disorder is exactly what you don’t want.
Unless you do. Then congratulations! You win.
I have a detachment disorder right now. I really miss my couch. I should go reattach.