I went to Dr. Fuckalo—
–this morning to talk about whether I need more antidepressants, the Man tells my sister, who’s here for a visit. You know, after my stroke they gave me antidepressants because they said people get depressed after a stroke.
And did you get depressed? asks Ruth.
No, so I stopped taking them, and then I went whop! Bernie sinks in his chair to demonstrate whop! So then I went back on them, and it was better.
So what happened?
After the cancer and surgery complications and radiation, Dr. Fuckalo said it would be a good idea for a little more antidepressant till I get my strength back
When did she say that? asks Ruth.
A long time ago.
It was this morning, I tell the Man.
A long time ago, says Bernie. You know, a lot of spiritual people were depressed. Nachman’s my hero.
You mean, the Breslav rebbe? my sister says. The one who said it’s a mitzvah to always be happy? Ruth once gave us a hanging that says that in Hebrew.
Not just a mitzvah, Nachman of Breslav said it was a very important practice to be as happy as possible, only he couldn’t do it. He was very depressed, says Bernie.
He lost his son, I say.
I’m sure he would have taken anti-depressants if they had them in the Ukraine then.
What else did the doctor say? asks Ruth.
Dr. Furcalo, Bernie.
She said that I should listen to music. Also, she said I should play with some kind of dough with my fingers. Playing with dough with my right hand would help in repairing my brain cells. She also said I should do some therapy.
I think therapy is great, my sister says.
Especially for Zen teachers, says Bernie. People think that if you’re a Zen master you shouldn’t need these things. What do they know?
Is that not-knowing or know-nothings, wonders Stanley under the table.
Bernie, can I blog about this conversation? I ask.
You know that for me there are no secrets, says the Man.
I love secrets, sighs Stanley. I feel so close to the person with the secret, like it’s us against the world.
I’m not sure that’s a healthy perspective, Stan, I tell him.
Who’re you talking to? asks Ruth.
Your sister likes to talk to herself, Bernie tells her.
That’s okay, she’s been doing that her whole life, says my sister.