Report by Trentin Quarantino
I get home from work at 7.30am and wake Harley up so she can go for her psychiatrist appointment. We sit and talk while she gets ready - I can see she's nervous and hope that she can start getting the help she needs starting today. Once she leaves I have a bite to eat and get to bed at around 9am.
I wake back up again at about 2.30pm, and Harley has of course been home for hours but left me to sleep. Her psychiatrist has asked her to come back in another month, and in the meantime has prescribed her pills, of course - but at least these aren't ones she's taken before, so maybe they might even help.
Since coming home Harley has once more re-written Eleanor Rigby, this time about the nonsense that is the modern rat-race. And in my humble opinion she has done a much better job than my lazy re-write from a few days ago.
I don't have time to cook so eat leftovers from yesterday and then head out to day three of working from (not my) home office. I'm really not in the mood to work tonight - never am to be honest, but the bills have to be paid somehow. Fortunately it's quiet and I only have a few calls to deal with, and I spend time checking out some options for an online course I'm considering taking.
I also spend some time chatting to Harley online - she's having a bad night and is feeling really depressed again. She sends me the song she wrote earlier today, and it sounds great - I think we're going to end up creating some sort of album of all these songs by the end of this lockdown. It's 4am by the time she goes to sleep, and 6.30am when I finish work and head back home - one more day to get through and then it's the weekend.
Additional reporting by Harley Quarantinova
I really don't want to get up today. It's 7.30am, that's too early! Also, I don't feel great about the reason for this early start. I haven't had a psychiatrist appointment in almost a year and I don't feel comfortable explaining that break I took to a completely new doctor. And, on top of that, a male doctor. I have a specific issue with being alone in a room with a man. So my morning is already difficult.
I distract myself by watching people on the bus and assessing their facewear. Most people wear homemade masks, those seem like they really understand the purpose of wearing them. The few people who obviously bought theirs in specialised stores puzzle me. They only cover their mouths but not noses. I wonder why. Is it that they feel they are superior to the rest of us and so can be assholes about it?
Waiting at the clinic to be seen by the psychiatrist makes me anxious a bit more as it takes him 30 minutes after my scheduled appointment to call me in. He's a decent respectful older Polish guy, doesn't ask me unnecessary questions, and actually listens to my answers. Also takes into consideration my opinion when it comes to the subject of medication. And doesn't seem to judge me at all. I leave with the feeling that I won't have any issues coming back to see him in a month, and also with two pieces of paper. Prescription for pills I've never heard of before and a note for my GP.
I get the pills at a pharmacy on my way home and it surprises me how bloody expensive they are. I already googled them up during my bus ride back from the clinic and figured I will give them a chance, considering they don't really seem to do much, at least judging from people's experience found online.
The other paper I pay proper attention to only when I get home. And what it says gets to me. Not that I disagree with what the doctor saw in me. But still, certain things about the report make a strong impact. I discover another thing I desperately worked on not seeing in my own life. And that inspires me to exploit Eleanor Rigby once again, this time it's me doing the re-writing, and so my first proper protest song is born.
I spend the rest of the day weirdly isolated in my own head with nothing much going on in there. Scared of the courageous plans for moving, thinking about the new F diagnosis I obtained today, chatting with friends online to kill time until I'm tired enough to fall asleep and hoping for a brand new day to come.
The later it gets the more I am able to relax. The early morning hours are spent sharing news and my musical accomplishments with a great friend at the other side of the globe who I actually don't know that thoroughly yet and only met her once in person but it's such a pleasant surprise and gives me motivation to continue with creating music. So here's a big personal HELLO, COMET! to Argentina!
I distract myself by watching people on the bus and assessing their facewear. Most people wear homemade masks, those seem like they really understand the purpose of wearing them. The few people who obviously bought theirs in specialised stores puzzle me. They only cover their mouths but not noses. I wonder why. Is it that they feel they are superior to the rest of us and so can be assholes about it?
Waiting at the clinic to be seen by the psychiatrist makes me anxious a bit more as it takes him 30 minutes after my scheduled appointment to call me in. He's a decent respectful older Polish guy, doesn't ask me unnecessary questions, and actually listens to my answers. Also takes into consideration my opinion when it comes to the subject of medication. And doesn't seem to judge me at all. I leave with the feeling that I won't have any issues coming back to see him in a month, and also with two pieces of paper. Prescription for pills I've never heard of before and a note for my GP.
I get the pills at a pharmacy on my way home and it surprises me how bloody expensive they are. I already googled them up during my bus ride back from the clinic and figured I will give them a chance, considering they don't really seem to do much, at least judging from people's experience found online.
The other paper I pay proper attention to only when I get home. And what it says gets to me. Not that I disagree with what the doctor saw in me. But still, certain things about the report make a strong impact. I discover another thing I desperately worked on not seeing in my own life. And that inspires me to exploit Eleanor Rigby once again, this time it's me doing the re-writing, and so my first proper protest song is born.
I spend the rest of the day weirdly isolated in my own head with nothing much going on in there. Scared of the courageous plans for moving, thinking about the new F diagnosis I obtained today, chatting with friends online to kill time until I'm tired enough to fall asleep and hoping for a brand new day to come.
The later it gets the more I am able to relax. The early morning hours are spent sharing news and my musical accomplishments with a great friend at the other side of the globe who I actually don't know that thoroughly yet and only met her once in person but it's such a pleasant surprise and gives me motivation to continue with creating music. So here's a big personal HELLO, COMET! to Argentina!
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