So when I went to the nurse practitioner last week, I asked if perhaps she could prescribe a few Valium, as she did before once, for when my anxiety gets really bad and I was fairly surprised that she did. Fifteen of them, in fact.
So I have fifteen Valium (which cost $1.46 and I am not kidding you) and so I thought about taking one today. I really considered it.
Here's the thing though- if I took one, I'd only have fourteen Valium. Which makes me feel a bit less safe than having fifteen.
How ridiculous is that?
Do you remember on Seinfeld when Elaine got a box of The Sponge birth control sponges when they went off the market? And how she then had to base her decisions about whether or not to have sex with a guy on how sponge-worthy he was?
Let me refresh your memory.
Anyway, every time I consider taking one of those Valiums I think about Elaine and I have to decide if this bout of anxiety is Valium worthy.
Today I decided not. Sure, the anxiety was pretty bad but it wasn't like I had to go onstage or do a presentation at work or anything like that. You can clean out a damn hen house and be anxious at the same time and the end result is going to be the same. You might feel like shit while you're doing it but you're dealing with shit anyway and as long as you can get up and do it...well. Get up and do it and feel like shit.
I had a few things I sort of had to do in town and so I drove there slowly down the backroads because honestly, driving while under the influence of anxiety is probably as dangerous and stupid as driving under the influence of alcohol and I found myself doing the last thing I would have imagined doing which was going to Walmart which I don't deal with very well under the best of circumstances and also, there's that moral and ethical thing that prevents me from going there too.
But I didn't go into the store part, just the garden part. I wanted some cherry tomatoes to plant and so I thought...well, why not? It's on my side of town and seemed like a better alternative than actually getting into Tallahassee traffic. There was hardly anyone in the garden center- a few other old ladies, mostly, and I found myself surrounded by plants and the place is open to the outdoors and the giant ceiling fan was keeping the cool, dirt and plant-scented air circulating all around me and I suddenly felt as if I WAS on Valium. A bit stoned, very calm, very slow, but okay.
I bought my cherry tomatoes and two Cherokee purples and two Tabasco peppers and two types of basil and some impatiens and handled it all pretty well.
I went on to Publix where yet another man pissed me off.
This was a very, very old man and while I was looking at the cheese with my cart about three feet away in the aisle from me, he came up to me and said, "Do you have money in your purse?"
Nah, dude. All my money is stuffed down my bra-like garment.
I didn't say that. Of course I said, "Yes," knowing was about to come out of his mouth and it did. He warned me that it would be so easy for someone to steal my money and run out of the store before I knew it and I told him that I'd been doing this for thirty years (although it's more like forty, truthfully) and that no one had ever snatched my purse but he kept interrupting me to tell me that I was making a big mistake and I finally just said, "Thank you!" and walked off. Without any cheese.
And once again- why did this bother me so? Just an old man, thinking he's doing his duty to warn poor, innocent, helpless women that some nefarious character is just lurking in the aisles of the grocery store waiting to steal their purses, as if I don't have the sense to keep a watch on my own stuff and so what? So what? Who was he hurting? He wasn't hurting me.
I don't know. I don't think I want strange men in my personal space these days. Whether they think they have the right to tell me that someone could steal my money or whether they think they have the right to interrupt a conversation, I can't tolerate it. It's almost like some wound has ripped open inside of me and these men are just poking at it.
Maybe I'm just becoming a bitter and bossy and intolerant and mean old woman. I don't know but it sure is happening.
I bought my stuff and came home and took the trash and got outside and did a few chores like cleaning out the hen house and scrubbing out the chicken waterer and then I planted my little impatiens in pots and planted the tomatoes and peppers and basils in the garden and watered the porch plants and I'm okay. No strange men around here and no men at all, to tell you the truth, unless you count Jack and he just got chased away from the food bowl by a hen so I'm not too worried about him.
I did get a chicken pot pie at the store and I might eat that or I might eat a frozen pizza that I got with lots of added tomatoes and mushrooms. I have dirty feet again, I am an old southern woman with cats and chickens, some outside and some in an ice chest in a bath tub and I am mean as a snake and batshit crazy and tonight that is who I am and when I wake up tomorrow (should I be so lucky) we'll see who I am then.
Love...Ms. Moon Who Still Has Fifteen Valium