Nothing But a Pack of Cards

When I woke up v. early on Wednesday morning, my whole apartment was bathed in a Sea of Orange. Maybe Light Red.

Finally The Apocalypse, I sighed.

Or The Day of the Triffids.

Perhaps The Last Judgement.

I scampered out of bed & raced to the computer to check to see if anyone else had noticed.

Of course they had.

It was a Dust Storm. In all my years of living in Sydney, I've never heard of such a thing.

The front page of The Sydney Morning Herald was full of it, quoting large slabs from the first page of Charles Dicken's 'Bleak House' as if to prove that the storm was real even though 'Bleak House' is a work of fiction & Dickens was talking about Fog in London in the nineteenth century.

'Fog everywhere. Fog up the river, where it flows among green aits & meadows; fog down the river, where it rolls defiled among the tiers of shipping, & the waterside pollutions of a great (& dirty) city.'

But of course I found it Strangely Synchronous that I had just been teaching that very page from 'Bleak House' to my Senior Class as an example of how novelists use The Weather to describe Internal States of Consciousness. I hope I'm not sounding too too Blue-Stockingly Highbrow here.

So of course I felt that the Dust Storm was a reflection of my current Inner State, even though the Weather Bureau said it was caused from erosion of soil out west.

But it felt like The Erosion of my Soul.

So, what's my current Inner State, you may, or may not ask?

The Shortish Answer is that this week I began a course of Anti-Depressants & I'm quite worried that I won't have any creativity left because everything will just get Evened Out.

Last week, some Nasty Politician announced that he's been suffering from 'Diurnal Mood Variations' for his entire life & has only just realised it & is now getting treatment. The Australian Media fell over themselves to say what an incredibly brave thing it was to tell us all. And that more public figures should come out & admit it.

I hope no one else admits it. It's such a bore to have to listen to the Big Puky Positive Spin that Public Figures put on their private dramas. You know, like they're 'Moving Forward' & 'facing the challenge'.

Who really feels that they're moving anywhere, except perhaps spiralling downwards when their depressed?

Not that I'm depressed. Certainly not.

I'm suffering anxiety. In fact, I had a panic attack when I was driving. I've had them before but this one was a Real Doozie. I was on the approach to one of Sydney's large bridges & suddenly it came over me. Luckily, I was able to take an exit.

The next day I raced off to the doctor who is incredibly popular & getting in to see her is like winning the lottery. Well, actually I'd made an appointment weeks before over a minor ailment. So it was again, Strangely Synchronous.

The Doctor took one look at me & said that I needed to take anti-depressants. Normally she would just write a script for Zoloft & send people on their way, but she felt that I needed to go to a shrink who could expertly monitor the dosage. Just to make sure.

I walked out of the surgery wondering what I'd done or said to get that reaction.

Was I Overly Gesticulating, or Speaking in Tongues or Foaming at the Mouth?

I couldn't tell.

Anyway, I've been on Prozac now for five days & apart from a moment in the classroom where I felt that I was doing a Stand Up Routine rather than teach a lesson, things have been pretty normal. Still getting Sweaty Palms. Still feel like hitting loud mouthed people in the supermarket over the head with a large wet flounder. Still blogging.

And I haven't found myself mindlessly watching old re-runs of 'Blankety Blanks' or 'The Price is Right' or 'Days of Our Lives' when I come home from school.

Yet.