Not the cereal, although I am reminded of a phase around ten-ish where I was obsessed with the flaky deliciousness.
That’s what I call the psychiatrist I’ve been going to for the past two years (his last name is something strange and begins with a K), and he provides the ‘special pills,’ hence Special K. It caught around the office pretty fast. He has a plaque and everything now.
So, I finally got to see him today, because I had to cut down to every once every three months because of insurance BS. Got to cut halfway through school AND see my fave hippie retread in the whole world. Seriously, he has gray hair past his shoulders now his granddaughters French braid (I’ve seen pictures) and he listens to Cream cover bands.
I was complaining about why I haven’t been able to sleep since I last saw him (and that it wasn’t because I missed him SO dearly), what with sometimes waking up multiple times, oversleeping, and then about once every six months being a normal human being for maybe two nights. Horrendous pattern.
He has got to be the first person I have ever heard to simply say “It’s because you have migraines and arthritis and your mother is a mess.” I wanted to hug the man. This was not the first time I’d had the compulsion to do so.
And not only did above take place, he wnt out into the hall, told my mother the root cause of why I was not experiencing regular sleep patterns, that it was not because I was experiencing another manic episode, and that she should be rather GRATEFUL I don’t complain about being in such constant pain more than I do.
Wow, she was not happy. But it seriously made Christmas.