Never underestimate the completely deranged or the completely stupid I'm at work today, which is ususual for a Tuesday. However, because I took quite a bit of time off I'm making that up by taking other people's shifts now. With in reason, of course. I'm not about to do any overnights. I watched a movie yesterday called "The Dunwich Horror", another cinematic gem from Roger Corman, which was, well, not all that bad. It had some very good actors in it, Dean Stockwell (I know him best as Al from Quantum Leap) and Ed Begley (Ed Begley Jr's dad, who is an oscar winner) as well as Talia Shire and Sandra Dee, the latter of which is at least well known from gazillions of high-school productions of "Grease". The disc had no extras on it, which always disappoints me. I was rather interested in how Dean Stockwell choreographed his rather extensive rites with the knives and the incense and all. I'd also be interested in listening to the schlock director of the universe telling all. Not that Roger Corman is the WORST director in the world. He's made a fantastic career! It's just that his movies fill, well, a certain NEED. Not a need that we necessarily knew we needed, but there you go. I think George Carlin said it -- somewhere in the world is the WORLD'S WORST DOCTOR. And to make it even worse, SOME ONE HAS AN APPOINTMENT WITH THAT DOCTOR TODAY. I talked to Mom and Dad yesterday while it was slow at work. Mom cried again, as she seems to do everytime we talk on the phone. I keep asking her if she will go to the doctor to talk about her depression, telling her that starting the prozac was the best thing I ever did. Depression runs in my mother's family, it seems, but I'm the first to actually do something about it. I really thing that Aunt Dolores wasted away due to depression and her life could have been really improved, but that was still at the time when depression and any other mental illness was considered a taboo subject and put the patient at subject for ridicule. Even when I told Mom and Dad that I was taking antidepressants, they were taken aback, like it was a bad thing for me to do so. Mom of course is reticent about going to doctor's because she knows the first thing they're going to say to her is lose weight. Unfortunately, she does need to lose weight, but I despise doctors that shove that down our throats. WE KNOW, godammit, stop being a prick. I told her to look for a female doctor or PA that's a bit overweight herself. Dad isn't helping either, considering that his meds make him lose his appetite and he's done so well keeping his weight down since being diagnosed with diabetes in 1977. He keeps hounding her about the weight and is now hounding me since he knows that I am so concerned about the steroids possibly making me gain weight. By the same token, he gets all uppity when we start hounding him about his failing eyesight and whether he should be allowed to drive anymore. Feh. I owe my brother a phone call, I suppose. I know Mom and Dad spread the word about my surgery and diagnosis but then Michael hasn't called me either. It's not that we don't get along, but we just don't talk for hours. We all have our own lives that are not dependent on the relationships within our families. Is that so wrong? Is it so wrong to try to distance ourselves from codependent behavior? Meh. I think I'm going to change this template now that I think I know how to do it. I've always just been fond of this painting. Poor Van Gogh. So misunderstood. Or he was simply a prat. Who knows?
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