So I Got Depressed

So I Got Depressed
Ashley Harper



So I got depressed while I was waiting the prescribed thirty minutes for my Crest Whitestrips to eat off some of the fifteen years’ worth of coffee from my front teeth because I was following directions, and it gives these creative suggestions for occupying those thirty minutes while the bleach solution drips down the back of your throat, suggestions like, “commute to work, surf the web, or talk on the phone.” Ever talk on the phone with something like wet wads of tissue adhered to your teeth? It’s a little debilitating, and add to it that you have this peroxide goo oozing down your gums and tongue, and we all know what that tastes like, right ladies? So I was lying on my back trying to let it just go down my throat as my friends always advised, and I was reading this old “Mothering” magazine I had that gave a recipe for breastmilk sourdough starter and making sphagnum moss diapers, cuz you know, you can just get some of that moss from the swamp or old growth forest behind your solar powered cabin and shape it into an absorbent pad or something. And see you could actually freeze this sourdough starter, like wedding cake, so that generations down the line your great-great-grandkids might make a batch of pancakes with it, and I just got nauseous, I mean—my god, come on, I’ve got Whitestrips on my teeth fer cryin’ out loud!