Guys, I’m going to own it. I have an unhealthy obsession with Dr. Drew.
(Not like…that. I mean, he’s Jewish…but no.)
(Although…there’s money there…and I desperately need to move out. Like, NOW.)
Sadly, during the semester my obsession kind of takes a back seat to things happening…oh, in and around my actual life and not in a staged rehab center in Pasadena. I know, right? Bor. Ring.
But during breaks I have way more free time. And by “way more” I mean “all of it.” Lately (and for reasons Dr. Drew could probably help me to better understand), I’ve had a constant stabbing sinus headache that makes reading really difficult but it’s downright comfy to lie on the couch under a Slanket and watch four straight hours of “Teen Mom” followed by “16 and Pregnant Finale Special: Life After Labor, hosted by Dr. Drew.”
Yesterday I still could barely move my head it hurt so much (my glaucoma was totally gone, though. Thank God.), so I really had no choice but to watch the marathon of “Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew.” Because…that guy from The Hills was on?
Look, my head hurt. It was that or just eat constantly which…come to think of it, that’s something else Dr. Drew could probably help me with.
And then last night I had a dream about Dr. Drew. I mean, not about him. But he was there. I was in Mackin Hall, except it wasn’t just Mackin Hall it was the library Grind? At school? And some other place that I know I’ve been but can’t place?
Dr. Drew was there, and he was one of my professors. He was a weird combination of my advisor and my conservatism professor from last semester, which is totally weird since both those guys where also there and sitting at a table. I…don’t know.
Dr. Drew offered to buy me coffee? And I was all, no, that’s okay, you really don’t have to do that…but then I realized it’s Dr. Drew, he can afford the $2.02 that the Grind charges for their ridiculously horrible coffee.
So he gave me a twenty and then disappeared in that way people in dreams do which sucked because I had to give him his change so I left it in his mailbox and no, I don’t know why Dr. Drew had a mailbox in the history department.
And when I walked outside I was standing outside that hobbit door on the side of Holton.
And then I woke up.
It was weird.
I have decided to take this as a sign that Dr. Drew should help me with any and all physical, mental, and spiritual ailments that may pop up.
I mean, they’re not very interesting. I have never been sixteen and pregnant. Or, indeed, any age and pregnant. Other than my fondness for NyQuil, I have never had a substance abuse problem. So that’s out.
But since my doctor’s office started to look like the set from Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, I need a new internist. And a quick Google search indicates that Dr. Drew is perfectly capable and licensed to provide such a service.
I’m out of school now which actually leads to more stress than being in school because…look, I don’t really know, okay? It’s weird. My head is weird. I get it, we’re moving on.
But I have a feeling that after a fifty minute session with Dr. Drew I’d be tearfully mumbling, “I don’t know why I feel nauseated when I look at academic journals and I know I’m capable of learning German but that doesn’t make it any less scary and no, I don’t know why I picked a career path and focus in which I constantly have to justify my existence…” with mascara trails running down my cheeks.
In light of last night’s dream, I think this is a perfectly acceptable plan.