Sad Broken Salads

it's 8am and my dad should be here any minute, he comes, he brings a bed frame, nothing else, he sets it up, it's 8:30am, I am late for work and the frame is for a queen, not a full. he finally asks what time I have to be at work, I tell him that I already told him I start at eight now, he responds that he thought I start at ten. I wondered why I would tell him to come between 7-8 if I worked at 10, but he did drive an hour to get my bed off of the ground and leave, so I did not comment on this. "nice place" he announces, standing in the kitchen looking towards the window. I reply that the birds are loud, he asks when, I say always. at the door he hugs me longer than we've ever hugged, and longer than I can remember hugging in recent memory (anyone). I leave him my keys (pretend not to worry he may find a mostly empty champagne bottle taking up most of the fridge), go to work, do nothing, go to the mechanic across the street, give them my car keys, do nothing again. lance refers to me as a printer (nervously) which I thought was funny, then scott says (nervously) that he wants to tell me what's going on. kelly has lucemia, he says, to which I have no idea how to properly respond, so I say okay. he said he's going to be gone a lot, trips to standford etc, I say okay again. he says he doesn't know what he would do without me etc.. promises lithograph will get better, says they hired a consultant, asks if I am going to quit, I say no. he says I've been quiet lately, asks if things are okay, I mumble something slightly audible ending with "I'm working on it", realizing I made it sound like I'm healing from a breakup. "you know you can talk to me, right?" he says looking at nothing "yeah". I wanted to tell him that I needed to take time off for my mental health, that I swore today that I would, that I had to quit, but that was before he told me, and before my health problems seemed a lot less real (perspective). I eat my salad, some of brent's jelly beans from easter, I get an email from "prab cross street", that was the subject, he told me an oil change is 30 dollars. I was furious, mostly because he's an idiot, but also because lance made things really awkward with the mechanics and money. I tell no one, go across the street, tell prab that I do not need an oil change, and it's an actual problem that I have to get an oil change every 1500 miles and put oil in my car in between. he then shows me a massive oil leak, and I am still confused, but feel better, we make a plan for wednesday, he said he doesn't know the price yet. he explains he just must not have caught it last week. kaiser, tan, car, I plan my week. I text lizz around 1pm that I need time to sort things out, I was concerned this was yet another new dramatic way to tell her I am doing worse, but send it anyway. when I call kaiser they tell me I need a referal from my therapist to see a psychiatrist (after I tell "honey" that I need an appointment "today, or tomorrow"), my conversation disconnects with valerie, after I ask her if she has a minute. she calls me back, so I go in the break room and close the glass. she tells me that the system must be down, there are no appointments. after a lot of holding, I make the soonest available appointment in 7 days, at 8am (830, but there will be paperwork, she warns). valerie doesn't ask me any questions, and I am either hurt or annoyed by this. scott leaves (as my dad is returning my house keys), and when I come back inside brent tells me that scott called him from his car, asking if my dad was my boyfriend. brent makes a nonsensical joke about being jealous, and I try to change the subject back to work. my dad gave me vitamin b, and two different herbal sleeping pill bottles. i email a lot of craigslist rooms, and both my parents. lance leaves, jeff leaves, I leave and go directly to the psych department of kaiser. i read online the criterias for visiting the crisis clinic, and met them all. I thought it was funny there is an address for the clinic nowhere. I ask the receptionist where the crisis clinic is (after calling kaiser adult psychiatry a lot of times), and she tells me yes they have one, I said where, and she suggests "here". she gives me paperwork, and then I'm swiping my card, paying for this visit. I start adding up the points on the worksheet for my global distress (very high/honest), and a woman is standing above me asking if I'm mollie. she is young, and sounded as if she too was having problems trying to pronounce her name (although I did not even try). we go to a small casual office around the corner (her iphone on the desk in front of her), and after answering that it was fine I wasn't finished with my papers, she requests that I finish my papers. she asks all the basic questions, and I finally tell the truth about suicidal thoughts, "no plan though, right?" she replies, I say no. she downplays everything, which I realize someone in my position might really like. she immediately recommends a group, I tell her I am too shy and it's "not my kind of thing" (meaning I want all the attention and privacy). "what do you know about groups?" I cut to fight club, remaining men together, "not much". then we talk about classes for a little while. "what do classes have?" she asks in a tone that I hate, I panic not knowing the answer, I say instructor, she says yes. "with classes, because of the teacher, you don't have to do as much talking, it's self-taught". I wanted to ask when I said anything about not wanting to be the one talking. I told her I'd "consider it". she tells me that some people with anxiety (like me) have ocd on top of that (unlike me), and something about how it would be good to see people worse than i am. my phone vibrates in my pocket, I know it's lizz (and it was). we come up with a plan to go through my "PCP" (primary care provider), to deal with my insomnia, she tells me that my "anxiety and depression, they party together", she laughs, in a strange manner for being so young, I think. self-possessed. she laughs the second time she makes the joke, too. she looks identical to sarah silverman, except for indian heritage, even down to her smile. she reminded me of sarah silverman, as a young stylish doctor, with the only difference being this woman found herself funnier. she tells me things like how common it is to worry at night. I try to scare her with my pill regime, she doesn't care. nothing phases her, and she seems to take me as serious as my giant red christmas sweater I was regretfully donning. I tell her honestly that I just need to know how bad things are, how bad I am, whether I need to leave here, move back home, "where's home?" she asks chattily. (she will not be the one to determine how bad). I wonder if she is so far removed from conquering her depression, or if she had no clue what it actually was. I say I've never been on medication; "I've been reluctant", I say I just need to get through the week. she continues to take our session as serious as sarah silverman takes her twitter, not at all, why would she. I ask for a hundredth time if I should see a psychiatrist, she tells me again to email my PCP, that she, my PCP, will consult with one for me. I ask about the commutation between kaiser departments when she asks if I have any more questions, and as I leave she playful shouts some tip about walking thirty minutes a day, and just watching my anxieties dissipate. I thank her for telling my therapist, and my primary about this visit. I put the open house I told "ropey" I was going to into my navigation, 28 minutes. on google maps at my desk it said 17, I decide instantly to bail on the open house, even though it was in el cerrito, beautiful house, private entrance, and I was hungry and there was traffic. I drive then to berkeley bowl, all the sad broken people like me, just grocery shopping, browsing the pre-made salads, with no one knowing, I think.