Yesterday, I stayed home from work because, among other things, I seem to be wildly allergic to some strange night blooming plant or mysterious emanation. Every night around 3 am I wake up unable to breathe. Maybe the ghosts that Theo swears are there are trying to smother me in my sleep or something; I do not know but yesterday I cleaned the entire house down to the ground just in case it was something in the house - perhaps the faint, terrifying whiff of cat shit that I have detected from the linen closet. Not that I cleaned the linen closet. I just closed the door a wee bit harder than usual and bitched about it to Miles.
Today, therefore, I should be rested and ready to work but instead I have been plagued all day with some kind of mysterious anxiety. It was less mysterious after I managed to destroy the museum's website - that was your basic justified anxiety, there - but even after I called plaintively for help and my genius friend Kyle restored it, the anxiety has lingered on. I'm starting to wonder if my antidepressant, which, okay, expired last November anyway, has suddenly really expired, as in it's gone kerflooey. I have a feeling that drugs don't work like that but then what do I know? I just know that I'm having that "I wish I was safely curled up in a ball in the back of my closet" feeling again and all the cigarettes in the courtyard are not helping.
Oh well. Probably beer will help to a certain extent anyway and to that end I am going to the Faces of Asheville opening tonight and then, gods help me, to see a cover band at Decades, because Susan met one of the musicians in said cover band and now we shall go and check them out. At least it's going to be different.
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Taking Self Pity to a Professional Level
About Me
- mygothlaundry
- Asheville, North Carolina
- In which a forty something single mother of pretty much grown kids and too many dogs attempts to navigate this peculiar thing called life.
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