I’m taking a break from repatriating to bring you the following news.

It’s official: At last I have an excuse for EVERYTHING about me that people find even remotely odd.

I even have a doctor’s note AND, even better yet, a six-month to one-year prescription to back it up.

So the big news is, I’m officially (and therefore it warrants being written in all-caps) DEPRESSED.

This is FANTASTIC news, especially when one considers that my beloved Time/Life A – Z Medical Encyclopedia is still en route somewhere between the Tropic of Cancer and the Tropic of Capricorn on the Atlantic Ocean, and I have therefore been running out of ideas for diseases I could possibly diagnose myself with (although, according to a gem of a book I have found as a temporary replacement, I’m now convinced that I have a condition called Dyspraxia. But more about that glorious discovery later).

Apart from the somewhat annoying symptom of bursting into tears at inappropriate times, I highly recommend depression.

The fatigue that goes along with it gives one an excellent excuse to stay in bed for days (the part of my life in the US that I miss the most. That, and the Starbucks. And the doughnuts… pardon me, I’m in tears again), and since one is considered to be in a fragile state of mind when DEPRESSED, one is handled with kit-gloves and therefore not criticized for staying in bed for days at a time and for bursting into tears during comedies or dinner. (And my sister is an excellent cook, honestly.)

And then of course, there are The Drugs. That is by far the best thing about being officially DEPRESSED.

Since the doctor was made aware of the fact (in fits and starts, and through even more tears) that I had donated most of my American Dollars to an immigration liar (get it? Ha ha. Oh, and you’d BETTER laugh at my lame puns and attempts at jokes, because I’m DEPRESSED and therefore very fragile, remember?), she came up with a way to medicate me on the cheap. So for a prescription of less than a hundred Rand per month (divide by 6.4, to get the US $ amount), DEPRESSION can be really quite affordable these days.

(Even during these trying times of mental illness, I’m a cheap date!)

So now, in the words of witty folk singer/songwriter Cheryl Wheeler, I leave you to wonder the following about me:

“Is it peace, or is it Prozac?

I'm psychiatric now
It just happened
I don't know how
Life was moving right along
At a reasonable clip
When bang zoom
Lost my grip
And I'm psychiatric now

Oh I might smile thinking things are really swell
Or I might cry - trouble is you just can't tell
Cause I'm psychiatric now

So when I'd had enough of this
I went to a psychiatrist
I said I'm acting crazily
I think my mind is gone from me
He looked at me said I agree
You think you're nuts and seem to be
So he prescribed some pills for me
And I went to the pharmacy
I took them and I seemed to be just ... fine
There's just one little question on my mind.

Is it peace or is it Prozac
I don't care
No need to know that
When the moon is full and the world's too close
I just keep my smile and I up my dose

Is it peace or is it Prozac
Is this mellow, am I a maniac
Is my mind out there and can I get it back
Is it peace I feel or is it Prozac?"