So the thing about me being off Citalopram? Yeah, now I’m on Prozac.
What happened is, I had a minor meltdown yesterday morning and instead of going to Bible study to cover Samsom’s dying moments (a pity, they were pretty cinematic) I ended up driving snivellingly to the doctor swearing that if she told me to nurture myself I would poke out her eyes with a fork. Two hours later I had a prescription for Prozac, blood tests for prolactin and cortisol and a cervical smear. (HOW? WHY? I don’t even know.)
Not from my own doctor, of course; she was busy. This was Doctor, I dunno, Six. Seven? Crikey, I’ve lost count; that’s a bad sign. She was nice, actually. Took me seriously, though I don’t suppose I gave her much choice as I was wailing violently at her face. Maybe I should have tried that earlier. Anyway, I started on the new drugs yesterday and today I made a custard pie and cleaned the mould off the bedroom ceiling, so perhaps things are looking up. There’s still the issue of SSRIs causing autism in putative future progeny, but as the doctor said, on balance it’s better that I don’t throw myself off a bridge. So. Yay. Here we are again.
On a brighter note: guess what I did on Wednesday? Judged a homeschool history fair, that’s what. “That’s odd,” you might be snarkily saying, “I didn’t know you were an historian.” To which I say, A, “an historian”, really? And B, no, well, the lady who was going to do it had to go to a funeral - her mother’s funeral - so I was the scrambled-about-for hasty replacement.
It was awesome. A history fair is just like a science fair, you know, with the big cardboard displays and the big title carefully constructed to take up half the board and a little bibliography in the corner that says “Websites” because you’re too young and inept to know how to source things. I had thought I was going to be one of a panel of judges, but nope, it was just me.
“Do I have specific criteria or a chart or something?” I asked.
“Oh, nope, just wander around and have a look at them.”
“Oh! Um, should I talk to the children?”
“Yeah, good idea! I’ll get them to go stand by their displays and you can ask them questions.”
“Um, OK. And should I make notes? Do I just give you the names, or should I do a little speech about why I chose each one?”
“Ooh, that’d be good, if you want to. Only if you can be bothered.” “OK. Ooh, can I judge them on their spelling and grammar?”
“Oh, no, I told them spelling and handwriting and stuff wouldn’t be judged. I didn’t want them to get scared.”
Hmph. Still, it was fun. The kids were all scared and respectful (heh). There were the usual gamut of exhibits - a couple that had obviously taken weeks of dedicated work, and a few that the kids incautiously admitted within earshot that they’d started the week before. There were the suspiciously erudite typewritten ones written by small children who, when asked to explain them, stared at me blankly and pointed hopefully to the pictures. There was one on the life of a certain female English monarch which managed to entirely omit any mention of her acts as Queen, creating the impression that she was did nothing but wear dresses and produce babies. I thought of getting into the feminism of it all with the entrant, but she was small and earnest and it seemed unkind. Oh, and there was one science fair project masquerading as a history fair project. I admired that. Stick to your strengths, kid.
Anyway, I totally rose to the occasion and gave them all a little speech about what I’d been looking for and the importance of using a variety of resources, not copy-and-pasting from Wikipedia and so on. And as my choices didn’t provoke cries of outrage and I wasn’t lynched by mobs of angry parents on the way out, I can only assume this is my new calling in life. They’re having a Literature Fair next term; I will expect the call.