Break ends in: FIVE FOUR THREE TWO…


I can’t say that to anyone.  It was hard just to type the message from my head.  There are people digging ditches today and I don’t want to see someone who is trying to help me.

Ten minutes.

I haven’t been able to eat this morning form nervous stomach and now I am hungry.  I showered.  Smell good.  Teeth washed.  Moisturizer.  No makeup.  Too nervous.  Too late now.

Eight minutes.

Nicotine suck for the rest of the time.  Don’t get distracted by the fact that this is hard for you and it shouldn’t be.  Nice day in the desert today.  Dove, quail, little wrens singing happily.  I have a toe fungus.

Five minutes.

Dolly Parton is not worried.  Be like Dolly.

This is my cat right now.


One minute.

Update:  I survived.  We talked about going on disability so I can focus on recovery.  In theory, this sounds nice.  An opportunity to truly rest while dealing with my illness, but I’m worried a bit that this will cause me to slip further into depression.  Head shrink says I dramatize outcomes and this is debilitating.  Well, duh, lady.  It sort of reminded me of when I was nine and I told Mother I wanted to kill myself because I was so lonely.

“Stop being so dramatic, Jennifer.”

Your feelings are not real.  They are just reactions from a very spoiled girl.  Go pout in your room.  No one wants to see a spoiled face.  Also, shut up.


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