Home Alone: a Good and Bad Thing

The husband's been out of town for a short work thing and it could not have come at a better time. I was going crazy with depression and anxiety, didn't want to be seen, to see, or heard and ugly violent feelings were growing in my gut and getting worse by the day. I had a bad week prior to that and was just getting worse and wanting to be alone to suffer and let things pass while alone. No luck. I was so relieved the spouse had to leave before I really lost it to the uncontrollable crying spells and suicidal shit.

I made it to my shrink appointment by taxi, he gathered the info on what was going on and urged me to call him if it was hospital time. My immediate thought was 'Who was going to care for the cat?' and why would I go to the hospital when I have a few days left to snuff it if it came to that?' Bad, I know. I ended up accepting the appointments that were made for me in a week, including one with a social worker, then went off to collect all my refilled meds after fixing my bad Tammy Faye Baker face. Some mascaras really suck. I had to pay full fucking price for the meds due to an annual deductible, which pissed me off even more than a 'normal' person, of course.


I called the insurance co and found that I hadn't been cut off yet, but had to meet the deductible, and that I would soon be billed. After paying in disgust, I stormed out, phone in hand and called another taxi to get the hell out of there.

I came home and checked the mail and found "An Unquiet Mind" in the mailbox, as well as my drug plan coupon pay book. I've recently acquired a Kindle, and have been reading the free classics like crazy, only I can't remember the previous sentence that I read, but have gone through many books. So, I decided to do that with the "new" real book and have nearly finished it. The book rubs me in the wrong way and I find it hard to find sympathy for the writer because of how much support she had from family and friends, and even colleagues - something many of us lacked and lack. I knew that I was avoiding it all these years for a damn good reason, and at least I only paid a penny for it ($3.99 postage) on amazon.com. I don't know if I will ever finish it, or go back to the crazy 18th-century english crap on my Kindle. Either way I only remember bits and pieces of some of the books.

Damn, I like the extra room in the bed. I have a bad feeling that I'm liking it too much.