Okay the, some of Emmett's recent artwork.

Mr. Afro "Big Afro is the way to go! Totally Radical. has a big Afro Yo!"

The Sailor Kid "The Sailor Kid is a kid of adventure who never gives up on whatever he starts."

Death Shall Overcome You

Reaper With A Sythe In His Head (sic)

My irritation with UPS is so great that even though they employ my brother, I will not use them to ship anymore.

Kat, the biofeeback guy took a history, and I have an appointment to start actually feeding back to my bios (they start with blood flow to the periphery monitoring, and maybe EEG later) next month.

Except I want to be well already by then, you know? I still want to give the brown belt test at the end of January a shot. I mentioned this to the instructor who'll be doing the workshop, and he gave me a sad look. They're getting really good at sad looks there.

Unfortunately the biofeedback guy has made me feel more like I should do it, just by virtue of him being in the psych group. Since this is all-all in my head, therefore I should just be able to soldier through it. It's not like I'm injured or anything.

Yeah, I know.

But the profile he took of me was so shrinky ("How was your childhood?" "Vertically challenged? Where are you going with the question?") that it made me feel like a mere act of will stands between me and getting my life back.

And, no, no one needs to tell me that if it were that simple psychologists and psychiatrists alike would be looking for other jobs. I know. I just don't feel.

It did amuse me to create a virtual peanut gallery in my head as he asked me questions--running commentary from meatspace friends, buffistas and my family, mostly responded to with "Well, he should have asked more precisely." being my primary internal rebuttal. Because I am still me, after all.

So someone here at work broke the cover on the container I brought homemade cookies in. It's one of those cheap Gladware deals, so I'm not upset at the loss, but am somewhat annoyed. I mean, I suppose I should be flattered that someone was so desperate to get some of my cookies they literally tore the container open, but still.

So the 8 or so remaining cookies are coming home with me as they're likely to dry out if left uncovered for the weekend. Plus, more cookies for me.

Hec, have you ever seen the comic Street Angel?

Hec, have you ever seen the comic Street Angel?

I haven't. Emmett might need to see that big afro.

I do love the fact, ita, that you had an internal monologue of "Well, he should have asked more precisely."

Perhaps more info might have been helpful.

Now, I'm looking for Greetings from the Side by Gary Jules. CURSES on the iTunes for thwarting me!

Perhaps more info might have been helpful.

He is at least the fifteenth medical professional to whom I've explained any part of this stupidity. Every time I explain it I feel both stupider and more pathetic. I feel like I'm talking too much, making too big a deal of the whole thing, and being self-indulgent.

I feel more likely to get cut off, or pitied, or just zoned out.

So how do we define "more info"? Until he tells me how he defines it, I just don't have it in me to spout every last detail of almost two months worth of feeling like crap. I don't know what's relevant -- I never did, and I'm rapidly losing what little perspective I ever had.

I get that (based on my own year of living medically). You're asking for help though and that's the first step. I hope you won't need the biofeedback.

My irritation with UPS is so great that even though they employ my brother, I will not use them to ship anymore.

I just sent you an email that will not decrease your irritation, but I also got a lot of people at UPS in trouble, so that is something.