Here she comes again...

So it's been one of those weekends. Haven't had it this bad in a while.

My body is scheduled to start the big P on Tuesday. Left the house yesterday only to workout with Sue, then returned to my pjs. This morning I successfully went to the grocery, and then came home. And am, again, back in pjs.

Stupid Gatsby called at nearly midnight last night in response to me "I want to spend all morning in bed with you" - and reported it was 'disappointing' that I had already gone to bed. Yes, dear, for both of us. I promptly had a dream about going to his house in the middle of the night in my nightgown. With drunk friends, including Jackie D-. How odd.

I don't know why laying in bed with another breathing human being would make me feel better, it just would. Or maybe it wouldn't, and I'm just setting up for more disappointment. I'm having a hard time getting excited for Jazzfest or anything, really.

This is it, folks. This is depression. It's not really all that fun.

So I've done half the dishes. And yesterday I halfway sanded the front door. Maybe I'll finish something today. Or maybe I'll just go back to bed. I have, indeed, started drinking already. So at least THAT's Healthy, right?

*sigh*

Cleaning House

I went to sleep at 10pm last night. At 3, I was awoken by a truly apocalyptic thunderstorm. Then I slept til 3pm.

I suppose the sleep did me good. Although I'm hoping it won't keep me up tonight. Gatsby told me he felt "wrecked" yesterday - but he seemed to be recovering quite well. Perhaps it was something we ate. Or drank. Or whatever it was.

Today I walked to get the car, saw some friends, and came home to clean up. I have a list 13 lines long of all the adult tasks I have to do, including my taxes and talking to my insurance agent. Ugh. I cleaned the house and drank champagne and watched The Godfather.

About an hour ago I laid on the couch, reading my grandmother's poetry and weeping. I put on Gatsby's shirt he lent me two days ago, and I wish he were here to sleep with me, curled up against my back all night. It will be days before I see him, for sure - and I am tired. I have 11 long weeks ahead of me, although I hope I get this all wrapped up very shortly. I at least hope I get it down to a science of sorts. Or at least, well-rehearsed. Perhaps mom is right, perhaps I have to stay all night.

I certainly need to visit the drug dealer, Dr. R. And get more rest. And workout again. Get new running shoes.

And weeping is probably good for me. Wearing his shirt. Knowing that I cannot trust him and might like to all the same.