"You know" I told Ron "If I could take something to get rid of the depression for a while, I just might. I can see why so many of us (mentally ill) become addicted."
Ron didn't quite know what to say, except to remind me God is coming back soon and "It (mental illness) will all be over then."
I think I would get into big problems with pain pills - because, the brief time I did take them (prior to ovarian surgery), they took away mental pain as well, and stimulants, because I'm always so damn tired.
Horrid depression today, I didn't even shower. It didn't matter since I slept late (8:50 by my clock!), watched Supernatural reruns (I always seem to miss the end of this season when they kill Leviathan), and cleaned the house.
1. I had to mop up Ron's blood. It would have made a great Halloween decoration. I looked at his head, he has a little goose egg and maybe a half inch laceration. You wouldn't think it would have bled so much, but boy did it. I'm on my third try pretreating and washing his t-shirt. I love him in that shirt, so I do want to save it. I'm not worried about getting it on my skin, we're married. God knows the blood center tested him for everything back when he was donating.
2. I had to rearrange the front room, shift the bear over by the front door, move the Bibles to the computer room - I have plenty, because I got a delivery today. Clean the floor, rearrange some storage containers, add some things to the storage, etc. Sadly, Supernatural was over by then so I had to settle for Judge Judy and Divorce Court.
Watching the divorce shows, I'm so glad I am married to Ron. He accepts my abysmal housekeeping and never expects me to make him dinner. He's thrilled if I give him a TV dinner he heated up in the microwave, and throw out the tray after he's done eating. He also feeds the cats and does some of the litter box duties. He's thrilled when I present him with clean clothes (about the only thing I can manage, some days). He knows I do as much as I can.
I tried to take a nap a few times, but I couldn't.
Torbie got into the Snickers box and slept on the last candy bar, mushing it out of shape. Her body weight, and heat, melted and reformed it. It's still in the wrapper.
She also got on my chest for a while today, which was very nice, if highly allergenic. I don't care, she's my girl and I love her. She's a nice, fat, old kitty - just what I needed.
Torbie is pretty much exactly what you'd expect from my first meeting, a very cuddly, sweet, cat. Baby Girl is a very strong pursonality, often hunting lizards in our back yard, but very sweet and loving in her own ways. Bubba's love language brought me rats - I don't miss that, but I do miss how he'd sleep with me every night (he wasn't hunting). Frosty did that, too.
Maybe that's an old male cat thing - or maybe Torbie isn't that old yet. I don't know. She will get cuddlier as the weather chills because my bed's under the only "good" heating vent in the house. The rest of the house heats fine, but my room has the best heat.
I also have the ultimate lure: the heated mattress pad. She adored it last year.
At least our yard looks good. Ron and I found a good yard guy who will come out once a month. I think that will work fine for us.
God knows I don't have the energy to mow these days, much less weed-whack and all the rest.
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