I rip up mail that I think is junk. I almost ripped up my new debit card's letter, thinking it was advertising for another credit card. And e-mail? If I don't know you, or if it is too long, sorry, I probably am not going to read the whole thing. Actually, being sorry sounds like too much effort, so maybe it's just a fact. But don't feel bad if I don't read your whole letter; you aren't the only one to have an e-mail skipped over - it doesn't even reflect how close you are to me.
I went to work this morning to have my boss ask me part way through the day, "What's wrong? You don't seem right today." How should I answer that? One ear is plugged up and not hearing well? (But that's been all week.) So-and-so is crying? (Okay, that was probably legitamit except that so-and-so hadn't been crying all day.) But she keeps asking, "What's wrong?" So I'm trying to figure out what is different today than yesterday that should upset me. I missed counseling yesterday because my counselor took a week off? (A fact, but would she be satisfied?) "Oh, so it's just depression." She stated/asked. Yes.
If "just depression" even exists. I was depressed - leaving work and being free for the weekend sure let me know that (oh, my wandering thoughts - or maybe they don't wander quite enough, instead repeating depressing thoughts). But "just depressed?" To be really really specific, I wasn't just depressed. There was probably some anxiety thrown in, maybe a bit of lack of sleep, add some loneliness because I was the only toddler teacher today, due to low numbers, and don't forget a little grumpiness. Oh, forget it; let's call it "just depression." Surely most of it fits under that. But why didn't I feel so much different from the day before? (My feelings were waiting to talk to me until I was off work. Once off work, I concluded that maybe the depression answer was true-er than I knew.)
So now I'm avoiding my home, like a good little depressed person (cardinal rule number... I'm not sure what number... Don't spend all your time in your house; go out somewhere).
I went to one store. Overpriced by 50 cents or a dollar on lots of items, in my oppinion. Except for their guinnea pig food. It's price ties with the best I've found without crossing into another state.
I think I'll go to another store. I need hand cream and tuna, so my hands don't get too dry and so that I can eat tuna next time I really don't want to eat anything at all. Oh, that would be today, and I just had tuna yesterday, so I should come up with something else.
But in a few hours, I get to see my sister. And then I think I will watch a movie that I plan on "wasting" 53 cents to rent.
Mr. Psychiatrist said, he didn't like driving in front of a police car either. So then I thought, oh, I'm over-reacting to a normal anxiety, too much of a wimp to handle it. However, I thought this morning, Mr. Psychiatrist probably doesn't feel the need to check that the car behind him isn't a police car seveeral times during a drive even when driving 5 or 10 miles below the speed limmit. I think I check that about as often as I check to make sure I didn't drive over something besides a bump in the road. And so, I think that my anxiety is not exactly normal. I guess that means I should stop checking to make sure the car behind me isn't a police car. But what if it is? What if he pulls me over? What if the anxiety of being pulled over is so great that I have a heart attack? What if one of my back lights is out; I don't see them while I drive... If a light is out, he might pull me over, and the anxiety will be too much.
Exactly why the anxiety would be too much, I don't know. It's kind of like my great fear of a belt braking in the vaccuum cleaner we had when I was a kid; all that would happen is there would be a bad smell and a loud noise that would startle and scare me. Hence my delaying of vaccuuming while I cried about the possibility. - I don't miss that part of my childhood.
I realize that my blog post is of such a length that if it was sent me in an e-mail that was sent to multiple people, I probably would glance over it and not read it. But I'm not making anybody read my blog, so it's your choice how much you read and my choice how much I write. I like writing, if you couldn't tell, as long as it's not a report or something in which I might have accidentally plaigerized and I remember that OCD fear at the time. Oh, actually any assigned writing just isn't so fun. Poetry and stories that I can write when I want to and have an idea and potentially have an audience; now that is more enjoyable.