The best thing to happen to me in the past two years besides Doodlehead's birth and my subsequent acquisition of him is that my ex-shrink Dr. Laikin identified my daily uncontrollable crying for no reason as "depression" and put me on Lexapro. Now, whenever I'm feeling sad about something like some bullshit at work or a guy who was once on Broadway like ten years ago and is now an out of work actor not calling me back, I take an extra 5 milligrams of Lexapro, wait 15 minutes for the psychosomatic effects to take effect and then I'm right as rain and back to thinking I'm one of the top 5 people who has ever roamed this earth.
The only problem with the Lexapro is the prescription pick-up situation. Usually I go to a Duane Reade before or after work where there is a large crowd at the pharmacy counter in order to my maximize my humiliation, give them my name, and then, rigorously adhereing to the HIPAA medical privacy act, the pharmacist picks up my bag and says "Feldman - Lexapro 10 milligrams?" and I answer as excited as possible, "Yup, that's me!" in order to fake out my fellow customers so they never suspect that I go home every night and read online horoscopes and ask Perry for kisses or I trick them into thinking I'm picking up the prescription for a depressed family member. I was discussing this with my sister Jenna who said that if I thought that picking up depression medication in front of sexxxy wall street men was bad, the last time she went to pick up her load of psychiatric medication at the large pharmacy servicing the entire U. of Penn community, the pharmacist said "Hi, Jenna," gave her her sack of medication, and said "See you next week." HAHAHHAHAHAHAHHHHA
In unrelated news, I think the paralegal who moved onto my floor is the bad guy from Kindergarten Cop.