How is everybody doing? It's rainy here, and I have a migraine for the FIFTH DANG DAY IN A DANG ROW, and forgive my rough language. A few weeks ago I was at my doctor and he gave me some samples of some new migraine stuff--new to me, and that's who matters, here--called Treximet, so today in my desperation, I got out the sample box.
I mean, it just seems like a lot of hooo haa for one lousy pill. Is my point. Anyway, I finally took it and we'll see if it even works.
In the meantime, hi! I feel less awful than I did the other day, but just between you and me, I decided I should go back to my therapist. I saw her for awhile after my, you know, marriage ended, and finally I am once again so miserable that I decided to get back together with her. I called said therapist, and you know what must be a fun job? Therapy-ing the fun that is June. Am I sounding like Dooce, over here, with my sadness and my being mental and you know what's politically correct? Is the phrase "being mental."
My point is, she called me right back. Apparently she's just been by the phone, thinking of nothing else but when I'd call her or climb up on a water tower. Why is it when someone has a breakdown you always describe them climbing a water tower, when in fact you can be nutty right there on the ground? It's the same with how if you can't read something, you always say it's in Sanskrit. I mean, German would be just as hard for me to read, you know? Why Sanskrit?
Anyway, she said she had availability Saturday, and please see above re June and the water tower. Who has SATURDAY appointments? But the thing is, Edsel had a vet appointment as well on Saturday.
But the therapist said, "Oh, just bring him along. I love dogs!"
And that is how Edsel and I ended up in couple's therapy yesterday. To tell you the truth, Edsel and I have been having issues for quite a while, and he really needs to learn to talk more. I mean, I'm getting a little sick of getting home and not ONE WORD from him before he humps my leg.
Oh, and when Eds and I were checking out at the vet, this really pretty woman came in who was maybe my age, except attractive. If that weren't bad enough, she had a lovely perfect gorgeous Golden retriever named--
...wait for it. No one names their dog this, so.
--Bella. She was boarding Bella for the weekend.
So she stood there, all perfect with her perfect dog, while goofy Eds and my pretty self paid, and while she waited she kept hugging Bella.
"I sowwy," she said to the dog, kissing her. "I sowwy I leeeeveeng, Bellas. I sowwy."
Guess who was over her. Was it me, and also possibly Bella? Guess who was probably de-effing-lighted to be going to the kennel for two days in order not to hear the word "sowwy."
After my Est session with Edsel, I dropped him off so he could think about his part in this relationship and I headed over to Winston-Salem, for a change, and dropped in on my friend Charlie. If you're just getting here or you skim like Faithful Reader Laura L, Charlie is a guy I am inexplicably friends with, seeing as he is in his 20s and single and all cool and artist-y and when we met I was married and still middle-aged and dowdy as I am now.
The point is, last August, Charlie was kayaking and slipped on a damn rock and is now paralyzed. Which guess what, sucks. I had visited him in the hospital awhile back but went to his apartment yesterday, where he lives with his most excellent girlfriend who is similarly in her 20s and more mature than me by about 10 million thousand eleventy billion times.
I gave him the money you all donated to him, as there was a fundraiser for him recently and some of you hit my tip jar. All told, I had a hundred dollars to take over there, and he was thankful to all y'all all.
I feel like going into detail about what his mood was like or what he had to say about his condition is, you know, kind of an invasion of his privacy, but suffice it to say, the whole thing 100% totally sucks ass, and I have every faith that he will eventually thrive and make the best of this stupid sitch. He's just that guy. He's determined guy.
I have to go, as Ned and I are going to a--wait for it, again--depressing movie about nuns and demonic possession and something, and say, who do you think picked THAT one? I wanted to see the happy wedding movie with Diane Keaton.
While I've been writing this, my head feels a bit better, so that's good. That was worth the Fort Knox packaging, I guess. Yeesh.
Talk at you tomorrow, dudettes. What if I just called you "dudettes" all the time? How soon till you stopped reading me? Don't go, dudette. Don't go.
Okay, June and her package, out.