Clinical Depression

Last weekend PHD's sister came to visit, all the way from Nova Scotia. She brought with her a whole host of fun stories that usually started like, "You remember Peter,
he has the chainsaw scar in his forehead..." which would make PHD say, "Stop telling those kinds of stories, she has a blog," with a chin point in my direction.  Like I didn't know by "she" he meant  me. It was a strange weekend. At one point my sister-in-law told me I was a very accepting person.  I said, "No, I am actually clinically depressed." I probably should have just said, "Thank you." Next time.

PHD must have liked the sound of the phrase clinically depressed because he now uses it to describe pretty much everything.  "That guy is always mumbling. I can hardly understand him. It's like he's clinically depressed."  "Boy 1 hasn't moved in 2 hours, I think he's clinically depressed." I think he was just asleep, but I am no doctor, either.

This led Boy 1 to believe anyone can diagnose anything, "I am pretty sure I have ADD!" I told him being distracted by texts from his buddies and walking into things isn't like ADD, at all.  So he decided that I probably had OCD.  I started laughing, "No, I don't, why would you say that?"

Boy 1: "How many times do you text me to check if your curling iron is shut off?"

Me:  "None.  I have a straightening iron."  I thought he might question why someone with stick straight hair has a straightening iron but he was distracted with nailing down my diagnosis, and texting.

Boy 1:  Every single day you text me to check if your straightening iron is on.  That's like OCD.

Me:  No, that's fire safety.  I don't want to burn down the house.

Boy 1:  It is never on.

Me:  Yes it is, sometimes.

Boy 1:  NEVER.  NOT. EVEN. ONCE.

Me:  That doesn't mean I have OCD.

Boy 1:  Yes, actually, it does.  That's exactly what OCD is.

For the rest of the day he would yell at me from various corners of the house, "Did I turn the straightening iron off?"

Kids know nothing.  He was born well after computers were invented so he should know that you can only diagnose medical conditions with a quiz on the internet. And, according to Dr. Google I don't have OCD.  I do, however, have an IQ of 139 which is only 1 point away from Madonna, whose IQ is in the genius range.  

So there. I win. I don't have anything except lots of brains.

At least, I thought I didn't have anything.  Then my sister-in-law called to tell me she had contracted ringworm while she was on vacation and that it is highly contagious so be on the lookout for gross rashes.  I will have to do some further WebMD consultations before I can definitively say I don't have anything.  

I just need to check if my straightening iron is shut off then I will let you know about the ringworm.

  

Next time sis comes to visit, we will stick her in a bubble