Somehow, I am feeling better this morning. Yesterday was a trip down anxiety lane, with stops at hopelessness, inactivity, and distraction. I think it's time to look at a supplement to Prozac, my long-time antidepressant.
So, today, I come to you a day late for celebration, but much more fit for it than yesterday. In the world of mental illnesses, that's sometimes how we roll. I was rescued last night by a couple of friends, who picked me up for some Christmas light viewing. Yes, it is late for it, but some fresh air and a trip to Waffle House has never done anyone harm, and I appreciate the effort.
Max, the dog, has gotten good about not asking to go out until he knows that I am ready to put blue jeans on. He was mercurial at the old apartment; sometimes his fancy to check his yard out peaked at 2 a.m. But not anymore. He is patient, as only someone with a good, young bladder can be.
I am getting used to wood floors, and marvel at how much cat and dog hair must sink into a carpet during a day. It makes me shudder, and resolve to live my life on wood or concrete.
It is late for a morning, but the sun isn't up yet. The tailpipes of the cars at 7-11 steam in the early day, and red lights trail down the street after cars.
I am going to call my shrink in a couple of hours.