"Miss Martha, you are so weird!" "I know . . . isn't it wonderful!?"

Shrinkidinkidoo

So . . . I went to the psychiatrist today to get my meds adjusted.  I’ve been given ups for a month, then I have to go back to see how I’m doing.  She agreed that it’s entirely situational . . . and that I “need to let things go” and “let people fail.”  She told me to *not* work extra, and to leave work at work.

 

Work *is* me, though.  I take what I do seriously and personally.  With pride.  Too much, perhaps.  My desk is a mess because I’d rather help patrons or learn my collection than plow through months of mail and catalogs.

 

If I don’t save the world, who will?  My ego runs rampant, it aways has.  How can I change 33 years of obsessing overnight?  I can’t.  Baby steps baby steps baby steps.  But when you make it a point to walk like you’re carrying a gun, baby steps are very awkward.

 

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