I remembered what got lost...

I didn't lose you! 

OK, so it's been awhile. You probably thought I'd misplaced YOU, my dear blog, along with the crystal doorknob, spare mailbox key, newish Ethiopian-opal earrings, pepper spray, pedometer, common sense, entire mind.

Don't worry, you haven't been festering on some sidewalk somewhere under rotting leaves and piles of snow.

No, dear blog, I've known exactly where you've been this whole time.

(Wellllll, technically that's not true, as I had to Google you to find the address of your special online home.)

But I knew how to find you. (If only I could just Google to find the above items.) HOW DOES ONE LOSE A DOORKNOB, you might ask. Never mind, it's a long story.

So today is the first day of my new medication -- an old one known for its use on antsy little boys. Ritalin. I was apprehensive at first, but so far, I haven't had delusions or the urge to chug a pitcher of purple Kool-Aid while stomping on ants and tipping over chairs. I'm not outside launching bottle rockets or shooting robins with BB guns.

Being highly suggestible, I admit, I am determined to make this one work, as Adderall, Vyvanse and bupropion haven't made a damn dent. 

"This will change your life," I keep telling myself. If I tell myself it will be so, it will be so. For all I know, it could be a sugar pill: I'm exactly the type of person who could heal from a placebo, because the power of my imagination CAN BE fierce. I have just kept it buried, though, for years. Too many years.

You see, my dear blog, the thing I've lost is my self. My creativity. That spark, that sparkle, that light. That urge to go out and do something, go somewhere, start something new. I have had no motivation for months. Years, even. And I'm really, seriously sick of it. It just can't go on. 

I'VE LOST MY MOJO.

Which is why, last fall, I began seeing a therapist that charges (my insurance company) a wee $435 an hour. I'm amazed anybody, insurance company included, thinks I'm worth that amount -- thinks there's something here worth salvaging. Every day I expect them to terminate my policy. BUT THANKS TO THE MUCH-MALIGNED OBAMACARE, I guess they can't.

We'll call her Marlee. 

Marlee has concluded my brain is too cluttered with negative energy and old tapes to function. It's exhausting me, draining me, and maybe that's what's adding to my "inattentive ADD" and contributing to the lack of focus, scatteredness, flightiness I endure each day. Maybe I'll chronicle here what we talk about each week. She's a regular part of my life, and I practically adore her. Yesterday we talked about thoughts being a choice. "You can choose how you feel, you can choose your thoughts," she said.

So today, I choose productivity and positivity.

Until next time,
Mea Scatternoggen