One more week. Gynecologist appointment in the big city on Friday, but that way I can do one more load to Goodwill and finish up anything I need to finish up.
I’ve got a problem. Richie was so incredibly grinchy that I don’t want/expect presents from him. We have so little money that I want to spend on the others, and yet part of me feels lonely and sad and unloved. I want someone to get as much pleasure and joy from coming up with something wonderful for me and damn the cost as I feel toward
everyone else. And you can do it without damning the cost.
But everytime he asks me what I want I get sour, and time’s running out. Someone talk some sense into me, willya? I don’t see my therapist until Thursday, and I’m only hurting myself.
Yikes — okay, now I gotta go 45 miles to the vet to take two sick cats to the vet, tomorrow I go 45 miles to get the car looked at (but Richie follows in the truck and we do some shopping and have a nice lunch) and Thursday I see my therapist and Friday my gynecologist and oh my god I’m going to scream.
I could put off both the gynecologist’s appt. and the car appointment but it takes me places where I can get last minute Xmas stuff. But it makes me have to rush rush rush.
Ah, well. Kaim will come with me to the vet, so that will be nice. I need a calming hand to stroke my head and tell me everything is going to be all right. It will, won’t it?
Stupid me. I’m making myself crazy. Why?
Mellow out, Krissie.
I’ve got Richard Thompson, John Hiatt Emmy Lou Harris, Bonnie Raitt, Sam Bush, and so many others singing “The Weight” in honor of Levon. That’s enough to make me happy.
Tomorrow’s another day.