I'm watching season 8 of Big Brother, as I have watched every summer for the past seven years, three of which pregnant and basting. The show's three episodes a week keep fans interested beyond the normal reality t.v. experience. We fiend to witness each hour's isms and actually care about people who the show sets up to be perceived in such and such ways. This year, a guy appropriately named Dick is both ruling the house and giving viewers like myself panic attacks. For real. I'm hoping it was just a period/hormonal fluke and not an I-need-a-benzo-prescription-condition worth blogging about.

I can't watch Intervention or Everybody Loves Raymond for the same reasons: they stress me out. My co-dependency is aroused, where laughter, or brushed off head-shaking, or channel-changing should be. I may give up Big Brother at least until Dick is kicked off. He attacks people--women--personally in order to fuel his power trips. He acts like he's bitter because Aerosmith stole his look. I like him for entertainment's sake, I think, but he also scares the crap out of me for some reason. I'm getting nervous thinking about him--he creates disharmony in me, which I think is abnormal couch-potato etiquette. His live exorcism would be outstanding for ratings.

It's like a rite of passage in my family for the females to go off the deep end and be saved by the life raft bubble of antidepressants or benzos. I don't trust myself with a prescription for benzos, but I can't stand the thought of going plastic with the Prozac kin. I'm a housewife. Xanax was made for me. In fact, WIC should just pay for my prescription on top of the monthly Cheerios, milk, and cheese it gives me. I'd feel better knowing it was still a standard procedure to parent on pills (my kids' love is actually the one thing that calms me). I'll even start carrying a purse to house my safety net. Don't get me too far away from my xanax or I'll kill you!

I'd be very happy with a placebo.

I guess I should've started dinner instead of this.