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The doctor has suggested a brief course of antidepressants (or ‘uppers’ as my serial-addiction Uncle Tom used to call them) He also asked if I might benefit from seeing a counselor. ‘Is there any particular aspect of your life that you think may be causing your depression?’ he asked. I thought “My dad pissed off when I was only a child, my mum is an uncaring alcoholic who could be dead for all I know, I’m unable to convince anyone to love me, I haven’t had a decent day since uni, my education is going to waste as I fester and rot as a shelf-filler and my sister keeps polluting our home with a succession of pot-smoking unwashed no-marks who steal all my food and use my flannel instead of toilet paper. Apart from that it’s all sun and roses.” Instead I said “I’ll think about it.”
It wasn’t Dr Kozhliak, by the way. Apparently he’s back in Poland after a family crisis or something, so I had to meet the rather pleasant Dr Brown. He looks like Barry White, sounds like Muhammad Ali and has stolen Elton John’s glasses. Nice bloke, though. He’s put me on something called Fluoxetine, which he feels may ‘lighten my mood’ and help me ‘get back on your feet emotionally.’ Time will tell, I guess.
In other news, Jared and Mandy the Monster are both on a final warning at work. The rumour is they were caught inflagrenti in the cold store, but I’m not sure that’s true. Or maybe I’m just hoping it isn’t – the thought of those two being sexually active around food is enough to put you off your meals forever.

RC 27-10-09