I can’t remember if I told y’all this or not, but a few months ago or maybe last year* I quit seeing my therapist because she was sneaky and that shit Is Not Cool. (*I don’t know! I’m not good with time. I think it’s because time involves numbers and numbers make my brain immediately shut RIGHT the fuck down.)

The good news is, I’ve found a new, improved counselor, and although she does not take insurance, she does take walk-ins and she’s a great listener.

She’s also probably not licensed to treat mental illness, but she is really good at painting tiny things. Like my toenails.

Moving on.

One day she shared what I thought was a terrific idea. As I tried in vain to hold still and stifle my giggles (I have very ticklish feet) she held my foot firmly and explained that when she is feeling low, it helps to do something just for her, and that looking nice made her feel better about herself. So, no matter what, every morning she puts on makeup, and immediately gets a little boost.

I’ve been extremely depressed lately, and this morning at 4 a.m. I remembered her advice and decided to go for it.

I forgot that:

• I’ve been wearing the same pajamas for three days.
• I haven’t washed my hair in five days.
• I take at least one nap a day.

So. Now it’s 4 in the afternoon and I look like a homeless hooker who just came off a three-day drinking binge.

I’m not gonna hold it against her though. I’m pretty sure the, “bathe and put on pants” part was implied, and not something you would have to spell out unless you were talking to a three-year-old.

Or me.

P.S. Did any of you guys have a relative who had a weekly appointment at a beauty shop in someone’s home? I just thought I’d had a goddamned epiphany–I could be better if I spent an hour a week getting a permanent in someone’s kitchen! Then I remembered Steel Magnolias. I’d be the mean, crazy one. Shit.