The mind doctor

I'm seeing a psychiatrist. I'm not doing it to probe my inner psyche and explore why I've never managed to have a successful relationship, or how I feel about my dead parents and living brothers, or to talk about symbolism in my dreams. I'm doing it because I want short term advice on how to cope with my pending demise from the sarcoma that has spread to my lungs and has an over seventy percent chance of killing me in the next year. I'm also doing it for the drugs, which in this case means Lorazepam, an anti-anxiety medication. (The pills are minuscule. If squirrels carried cash, Lorazepam would be the size of their dimes. When I take them, I'm not sure whether or not they went down or are lost between my cheek and gum.)

My hands are pretty big but still, Lorazepam pills are tiny.

I've seen the psychiatrist twice now. He seems like a good guy. He reminds me, in looks and a little bit in manner, of the actor Charles Grodin. 
Like all people in that field, he's good at helping me re-frame things, seeing them in a better light that's ideally a more realistic one than the negative spin I naturally tend to give things.
His office is in a small brick complex near one of the oldest suburban shopping malls in America. It's an upscale part of town. I went to a farmers market for a late lunch before and had a very good falafel sandwich. (An American farmers market where you can get a falafel sandwich? I'm all for it.)
After the sandwich, I went to a Starbucks for a cup of coffee. Today is Martin Luther King Day so the kids were out of school. Most of the teenagers I saw were girls. Where were the boys? Home playing video games? At movie theaters? I have no idea. The girls were fun to watch as they learn to move about in the world of adults, buying cups of coffee and shopping, choosing where to sit with friends, talking, building friendships. When I was a boy that age I and other boys with a day off thought mostly about blowing things up with firecrackers and getting away with it, or finding a place to smoke purloined cigarettes and get away with it. 
Anyway. I'm seeing a psychiatrist. Most in my condition would have a spouse who would help them cope. Not me, though.

Madness and stuff

1. The elderly woman who has been trying to contact her father left a longish message yesterday. (Quick background: She thinks she's in her 80s and her father has the same name as the Loser.) Usually, the answering machine confuses her and she tries to talk to it, gets frustrated when there's no response, and hangs up, despite the Loser's clear outgoing message. This time she left a calm message for "Mom or Dad," and included her name and telephone number. 
The pictures her alone in a comfortable apartment, sitting peacefully, when suddenly the urge to talk to her father, who has probably been dead for several years, bubbles up among tangled neurons and she reaches for a pad with the Loser's name and number on it. The Loser has politely coached her a few times to write "No, not this number" next to the number, but to no effect.

2. The Loser was going to have dinner with a friend who lives half an hour away and has been depressed lately. (Neither cares for football so watching the Super Bowl had nothing to do with this. There are mild weather concerns, but it looks doubtful that the streets will be bad.) The Loser was ready to go, when he got an email from his friend saying that on his visiting sister's advice (she's a psychiatrist) he was checking himself into an emergency psychiatric care facility for a few days for evaluation and treatment. 
3. Yesterday, the Loser went to a funeral service for an old friend of the family's. About four years ago, he went to the same church for the female half of the couple who's male half's death precipitated the service. That time, he drove his parents, who have since died. The Loser stayed for the reception and spoke to two of the couple's sons and their only daughter, all of whom he had known when they were all children. After the service and reception, the Loser and a couple he's friends with went out for lunch. Two others who'd attended, a man and a woman, went also. The Loser thought he felt a spark between he and the woman, but she's far out of his league, being employed and good looking. 

4. Another friend of the Loser's will visit tomorrow. He sounds troubled and says he is nearly broke. He and the Loser shared the same job and were fired together last summer.