Didn't work for Black Beauty ... and it doesn't work for me, either.

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You know you missed your meds when …

1. You burst into tears at the commercial for Alzheimer's medication.
   
2. You burst into tears at the teaser (the story, too, but you start with the teaser) for the story about the Biden's new puppy
   
3. You burst into tears at the photos of Caroline Kennedy and her parents
   
4. It's Monday.
   

I've got a nasty habit of missing a dose over the weekend – all it takes is a change in my routine to throw my whole little world into a cocked hat – so it's not a complete surprise to be a little "off" on a Monday. But yesterday was special, and it turned into a classic object lesson in not doing what Jennifer Loudon writes in Comfort Queen: "I can name what I am feeling and notice it, without trying to change it and without getting caught up in the story that goes along with it."

The child celebrated her 10^th birthday yesterday. I'd already had the meltdown this summer in group when I realized that she's halfway through her life at home and basically, her life is irrevocably messed up and there's no recovering from it now (and people think depressed folk don't have a grasp on reality!) So this particular meltdown included a little of that and a dollop of The Way Things Should Have Been, especially when her father came over with a cake and we all sat down in a very civilized, modern, progressive fashion and had coffee and cake and conversation. Add a soupçon of How Could You Leave Us the Way You Did and It Was NOT Supposed To Be This Way and you've got a pretty good recipe for poking one's depression with a stick. Not to mention getting caught up in the story that goes along with the feelings.

As long as I was wandering up and down these aisles anyway, I stopped to inspect a display of All The Things I Had Growing Up That My Daughter Will Never Have Because I Am A Single Parent, poked through an array of The Wonderful Birthdays My Mother Always Made For Me Which Were All Nicer Birthdays Than I Make for My Daughter, and picked up some I Grew Up In A Clean Lovely House and She's Growing Up In A Pigsty, since I was running low.

I can see where "the story that goes along with it" is really what's getting me into trouble – or at the very least, making things worse. The Alzheimers commercial reminds me that I don't have any idea yet what to get my father for Christmas, and does my inability to think of anything he might want or need or enjoy mean I'm giving up on him?

The Biden's new puppy reminds me that my 15 ½ year old poodle is has just started having some bad days, physically and mentally.

Pictures of Caroline Kennedy and Camelot make me think of families with two parents, dreams of the way things could be, and the way those dreams end, a woman alone with all her family gone, the dreams dead … oh you name it, I've got a story to go with it!

But Jennifer Loudon's comment resonated with me. It's nothing my poor beleaguered therapist hasn't been trying to communicate to me for months, but somehow … I got a little glimmer of understanding this time. Here is the rest of it: "…when fear and overwhelm come to visit, I can choose to put my attention on the feelings rather than the self-talk that accompanies the feelings. I can name what I am feeling and notice it, without trying to change it and without getting caught up in the story that goes along with it.

The combination of the weekend's snow and the looming holidays are absolutely engendering "fear and overwhelm." Yesterday there was no school and no day care, but of course, I had to be at work. I'm worried about shoveling out and the leaky windows and the fuel oil tank without a gauge and the bills to pay and the gifts to buy and the ideas for perfect, thoughtful gifts that I don't have. I'm worried about the two - no, three; no, is it four? doctor's appointments I haven't made because it's just too much for me right now. I'm worried about the handwork piece I need to block, mat and frame for a going-away party tomorrow and treats I should have gotten for my daughter's class and food for this party tomorrow. And how will I juggle everything I have to do at work to be ready to leave for a week and a half with everything I have to do AT HOME to be ready to leave, not to mention I have to pick up my prescription and get gifts somehow and sit down and figure out which bills I can pay and ….

OK – stop. Breathe. STOP. I am feeling afraid and overwhelmed. Period. No story needed. Right now I will proof this posting, make a little supper, contemplate a small floral embellishment to the embroidery if I feel like it, watch NCIS in ten minutes, get to sleep at a reasonable time and prepare to follow my therapist's Prime Directive: breathe … show up … do what's in front of you.

The journey continues …