The song “Purpose” is one of my favorite tracks on the “Avenue Q” cast album. (And I have lots of favorites on that album.) It’s something about the combination of the upbeat lyrics, the energetic, peppy band, the mental image of the happy, dancing cardboard boxes, and, most of all, the youthful, innocent, and optimistic spirit with which John Tartaglia sings. The way he sings that song is just infectious — the whole thing really gets to me. It makes me happy and sad at the same time, which is weird, but it’s because I’m both hopeful and pessimistic about my own life right now. In fact, I listened to the song just now and tears started dripping from my eyes. The song creates a complicated emotional reaction in me.

If you haven’t seen the show (and I’m sure most of you haven’t), it might be hard to figure out what I mean, but you can listen to a short clip of the song here.

“Purpose”

(as transcribed by me, since I don’t have the CD booklet in front of me)

Bah-bah-bah-bahhhhh

Doo-doo-doo-doo-doo

I don’t know how I know

But I’m gonna find my purpose

I don’t know where I’m gonna look

But I’m gonna find my purpose

Gotta find out

Don’t wanna wait

Got to make sure that my life will be great!

Gotta find my purpose…

Before it’s too late.

He’s gonna find his purpose

Whoa, whoaaaaaaa, I’m gonna find my purpose

He’s gonna find his purpose

Yeaaaaaah, yeah, yeaaaaah, I’m gonna find my purpose

Could be far

Could be near

Could take a week, a month, a year

At a job

Or smokin’ grass

Maybe at a pottery class

Could it be

Yes it could

Somethin’s comin’, somethin’ gooooooooooood…

I’m gonna find my purpose

You’re gonna find your purpose

I’m gonna find it…

What will it be

Where will it be

My purpose in life is a mystery

Gotta find my purpose

Gotta find me!

You’re gonna find your purpose

Whoa, whoaaaaaaa, I’m gonna find my purpose

You’re gonna find your purpose

Purpose, purpose, purpose, yeaaaaaah, yeah!

I gotta find me.

In regard to yesterday’s post, in which I wrote that my urologist said that too much ejaculation is bad for the prostate — something of which I have found absolutely no evidence online — a reader, who, after extensive research, also found nothing online, writes:

“In ways, there is some twisted humor in this. Suppose…

“After having Friday night sex, you both want to repeat in the morning. What do you do? If you already had your three ejaculations that week, can you borrow against next week’s quota? If that was your second ejaculation and you’re dating another guy on Saturday night, do you tell Mr. Friday Night you can’t because you want to save a potential ejaculation for the new guy? What if you don’t ejaculate for a week? Can you bank those for the future? That gives new meaning to ‘sperm bank.’

“Have you seen the ‘Seinfeld’ episode in which Elaine has to determine if her boyfriends are ‘sponge-worthy’ when she runs low on her contraceptive sponges? With your thrice a week maximum, will you now have to determine if a guy is ejaculation-worthy? Will you also have to decide what’s worth more: a sure thing jerk-off or a possible sexual interaction? How’s that proverb go… a cock in the hand now is worth two guys going down on your bush later?”

I’ve wondered similar things. Like, what if I get horny and it’s not my ejaculation day? Am I supposed to get blueballs? And should I refrain from masturbating the night before a date? This all makes no sense, and I think my urologist is speaking out of his ass.

As it were.

I saw a psychiatrist last Thursday.

I’ve suspected for a while that I might have a chemical imbalance. I’m Mr. Anxiety. Despite years of talk therapy, despite numerous changes in my life situation, this anxiety has never completely gone away. And lately, between my prostate issues and my job, I’ve felt so despairing inside. I’ve felt like the rest of my existence is going to be pointless. For a couple of weeks last spring I talked to my therapist about seeing a psychiatrist, someone who could actually prescribe medication, but then I felt better again. This time, though, I’d just had enough of feeling like this.

So I finally saw a psychiatrist on Thursday.

I talked with him for an hour and a half, and at the end of our talk, he concluded that I mostly have anxiety, with a little bit of depression thrown in. This was not a surprise.

He’s prescribed me Wellbutrin, which I began taking on Sunday morning. He said it might make me jittery, though, because Wellbutrin is “activating.” Finding the right medication is trial and error, although I don’t quite understand why I need something “activating” if my main problem is anxiety. And I’ve been feeling more anxious than usual these last couple of days, but I don’t know whether it’s the Wellbutrin, or whether it’s situational, or whether it’s psychosomatic. Psychosomatic anxiety? Isn’t that redundant? Like, the anxiety is all in my mind? Um, duh?

The anxiety could be situational. I had a follow-up appointment yesterday morning with the urologist, who I swear to God looks and sounds just like Jerry Springer, and apparently my prostate is fine again. Which is problematic, because I’m still having symptoms. He says it could be psychosomatic. Oh, wonderful. Now what am I supposed to do.

He also reminded me to ejaculate no more than three or four times a week. (Yeah — no more than. I’d thought it was at least.) For how long, I said? Forever, he basically said. Too much is not good for the prostate. So for the rest of my life it’s not good for me to ejaculate on consecutive days? I’ve never heard anything like this before. “You’ve never talked to a urologist before,” he said. But really? Seriously? No more than three or four times a week? Are you kidding me? I have to regulate my sex life now? Even when I’m alone? I swear I’ve never heard this before. I don’t know if I buy it.

Then, this morning, I was sitting in a meeting, prepping for a hearing tomorrow, and I had no idea what was going on. And whenever I tried to focus, my mind would wander. I’d try to concentrate, and then I’d start to think about why I couldn’t concentrate, and then I’d start to think about why my mind works the way it does, all of which of course prevented me from concentrating, which started the cycle over again. But this is all normal for me. And in my two years in this job I’ve never known what the hell was going on. Anyway, I was sitting in this room and I was feeling urinary pressure and I was feeling completely clueless and useless and anxious and I just needed to get the hell out of there.

I was talking to the urologist yesterday morning about the other issues going on in my life, my worries about turning 30 and whatnot, and he told me that he’d recently read that most people in their 80s found that their 70s had been their best decade — because they’ve accomplished what they want, and now they can just relax. Well, if I have to deal with all of this every day for the next four decades of my life, I’m never going to make it to 70.

I feel like a total basket case right now.

But I need to write these words anyway, because they are my truth.