Run Right Out and Pick Some Up
Unsolicited testimonials for three consumer products that you might need as much as I do and just not know it yet:
1) Frozen blueberries
I am not really a huge fan of blueberries my own self. I mean, they're fine except for their distinctive, um, blueberry flavor, which I find cloying and, when particularly concentrated (or artificial), frankly nauseating. However. Cassie loves them, but if I spend an arm and a leg to get a little container of fresh ones out of season, chances are good that she'll actually turn up her nose at them because they're too sour. Frozen blueberries, on the other hand, are much cheaper, come in a handy plastic bag you can pour them directly out of, and seem always to be sweet. And blueberries are all good for you and everything, with, you know, anti-oxidants and flavinoids or flavones (or one of those things that are even better than vitamins and fiber and other stuff that regular people actually know about already). When Cassie, who refuses to eat any vegetables at all ever, scarfs a whole big bowl of frozen blueberries, it makes me feel like significantly less of a bad mother.
2) Pre-brushing mouth-rinse stuff
My dentist and hygienist seem skeptical. My mom does, too. But I swear to you, this stuff is why when I ridiculously failed to go to the dentist for 10 years (no exaggeration), and then finally finally got my ass back in the big vinyl reclining chair, I had no cavities. I do floss daily(ish), and that's what everybody seems to want to credit. But seriously, when I travel (and don't bring the rinse stuff because it's sloshy and doesn't pack well), I really, really notice that my mouth gets all gross and mossy at a much faster rate. I just had another check-up, and the dentist remarked to the hygienist how great my gums looked. Trust me when I tell you that it's not my preternatural adeptness at hygiene technique. Daily use of the red icky-tasting swishing fluid. That's it. That's the secret.
3) Prozac
I was depressed. It felt a little as if life were a mucky garden, overgrown--choked--with these unwholesome purple and brown plants, and with ground so unreliable I could be up to my ankle in foul-smelling mud at the slightest misstep. The tiniest little thing would go wrong (oh, look, we're almost out of cat food...), and I could almost literally feel the squirt of some noxious combination of neurotransmitters, and in seconds I'd be awash in guilt and dread. SSRIs (first Lexapro, now Prozac) made the ground solid and sound, and the garden well lit and mowed. It made it possible for me to write; it made my career something I could actually work on; it is conceivable that it might have saved my marriage (at the very least, it made it vastly more pleasant).
I always used to be kind of an agnostic about anti-depressants. You know, you read the rants, the sneering depictions of Americans as greedy, shallow consumers of "lifestyle" medications. And, I don't know, it sounded kind of plausible. I wasn't paying that much attention, really. I'd read the diatribes and nod absentmindedly, critical faculties not fully engaged. But you know what? I have an opinion now. And my opinion is fuck that noise. I think anyone who wants and can safely take SSRIs should get them. That's it. And the neo-Calvinists who think pain is good for us and who value purity above all in their human nature can just go huddle together with others of their kind, but they'd best keep their grubby little mitts off of my brain chemistry, thank you very much.
1) Frozen blueberries
I am not really a huge fan of blueberries my own self. I mean, they're fine except for their distinctive, um, blueberry flavor, which I find cloying and, when particularly concentrated (or artificial), frankly nauseating. However. Cassie loves them, but if I spend an arm and a leg to get a little container of fresh ones out of season, chances are good that she'll actually turn up her nose at them because they're too sour. Frozen blueberries, on the other hand, are much cheaper, come in a handy plastic bag you can pour them directly out of, and seem always to be sweet. And blueberries are all good for you and everything, with, you know, anti-oxidants and flavinoids or flavones (or one of those things that are even better than vitamins and fiber and other stuff that regular people actually know about already). When Cassie, who refuses to eat any vegetables at all ever, scarfs a whole big bowl of frozen blueberries, it makes me feel like significantly less of a bad mother.
2) Pre-brushing mouth-rinse stuff
My dentist and hygienist seem skeptical. My mom does, too. But I swear to you, this stuff is why when I ridiculously failed to go to the dentist for 10 years (no exaggeration), and then finally finally got my ass back in the big vinyl reclining chair, I had no cavities. I do floss daily(ish), and that's what everybody seems to want to credit. But seriously, when I travel (and don't bring the rinse stuff because it's sloshy and doesn't pack well), I really, really notice that my mouth gets all gross and mossy at a much faster rate. I just had another check-up, and the dentist remarked to the hygienist how great my gums looked. Trust me when I tell you that it's not my preternatural adeptness at hygiene technique. Daily use of the red icky-tasting swishing fluid. That's it. That's the secret.
3) Prozac
I was depressed. It felt a little as if life were a mucky garden, overgrown--choked--with these unwholesome purple and brown plants, and with ground so unreliable I could be up to my ankle in foul-smelling mud at the slightest misstep. The tiniest little thing would go wrong (oh, look, we're almost out of cat food...), and I could almost literally feel the squirt of some noxious combination of neurotransmitters, and in seconds I'd be awash in guilt and dread. SSRIs (first Lexapro, now Prozac) made the ground solid and sound, and the garden well lit and mowed. It made it possible for me to write; it made my career something I could actually work on; it is conceivable that it might have saved my marriage (at the very least, it made it vastly more pleasant).
I always used to be kind of an agnostic about anti-depressants. You know, you read the rants, the sneering depictions of Americans as greedy, shallow consumers of "lifestyle" medications. And, I don't know, it sounded kind of plausible. I wasn't paying that much attention, really. I'd read the diatribes and nod absentmindedly, critical faculties not fully engaged. But you know what? I have an opinion now. And my opinion is fuck that noise. I think anyone who wants and can safely take SSRIs should get them. That's it. And the neo-Calvinists who think pain is good for us and who value purity above all in their human nature can just go huddle together with others of their kind, but they'd best keep their grubby little mitts off of my brain chemistry, thank you very much.
posted by Rosie Bonner at 10:30 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home