Published November 30, 2015 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

So I was talking to The Mom earlier and over the course of the conversation she chided me for being a bit obsessive about minutiae.

This from the woman whose influence has led for me to stop everything I’m doing to make sure I know where my keys are.

I responded with, “Thank you, Tree, I didn’t think I had fallen that far away from you.”   She will probably pinch me later.

As our conversation continued she went on to describe a student of my brother’s (Yes, both my brother and I have transitioned from the lucrative field of Performing Arts to the even more flush-with-cash opportunity that is Education.)  She said the student sounded a lot like me except the student had severe anxiety.

I didn’t realize that it wasn’t apparent (at least not to MY parent) that I have anxiety issues.  I thought everyone on the planet had noticed that I’m a bit high strung and although my panic attacks are less frequent, they are still there. (I just don’t have them at The Gap anymore.)  I have a special emergency stash of extra anxiety pills that my neurologist prescribed after I gave him the rundown on exactly how delightful the past year had been. (What he actually said was, “Would you like something stronger for anxiety?”  I said, “Where were you in April when I was having chest pains from the stress of finishing the school year?” He said, “And you want to know why I won’t let you try out for the roller derby?” I hate it when he’s smarter than me.)

I am reminded of a dark time during my college years when a friend and I were both so depressed by recent break-ups that no one else could tolerate us so we hung out with each other.  We would laugh uproariously at each other’s grim outlook and then figure something out.  We once went out in search of a Dallas Observer so we could peruse the personal ads. I was on the last day of a juice fast (Don’t ask) so it probably wasn’t an ideal time to search for a mate (I was so hungry, I was pretty close to just bashing a cute guy over the head and dragging him, dazed, to my car. To be perfectly honest, I have had moments like that without the juice fasting.  My Amanda Friend told me that I couldn’t drop my stack of books on the cute guy at the library as an excuse to meet him.

Anyway, my friend and I took our Observer to IHOP, so I could have juice and torment myself with the smells of yumminess while we read the ads aloud to each other. At one point I was reading, “Must be intelligent and rational.” My friend was momentarily distacted and I began to shout, “DO YOU THINK I’M RATIONAL?!!” whilst bopping my friend on the head with the paper.

Everything went quiet as I realized I had just answered my own question.

At least now I’m medicated.

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