  It's 6.18am. Do you know where your laundry is? Mine's washing. It's not going to dry there. Oh no, my laundry is too damn fine for the ineptitude of the dryers Down Below. I'm going to hang them on my deck (or Stoop as Kurt calls it.
Why is it called a stoop? Deck makes more sense, dunit? ) Developing a full on nesting instinct. Our apartment is, hmm. Spartan. Then, Mama gave me milk crates, and now I have a funky shelf. And, I keep thinking about furniture, wall hangings, and Kurt and i broke down and bought some bamboo, and a venus flytrap.
That's right kids, it's time to get DOMESTIC. We were going to get Cactii, as they are the easiest form of greenery to take care of, but since Phoebe lacks anything resembling feline grace, I thought it would not be best to have something interesting with pointy things on it. Read a sad, sad thing in the local paper - an ad for a 15 year old shepard cross, free to good home. How can you spend fifteen years with a creature, feed it, shelter it, and then leave? I'm sure (I hope) those folks have good reason. I'm calling them later on today to see if I can take her home. I know Kurt and I aren't around a lot, but there are other animals around, and when we are home, we're most attentive.
It feels like I've been struggling a lot more lately. Everything is exhausting - driving to work, work, going out in public once a week. I want to stay in bed, and look at corners. I've not been diligent with my drugs, but I have been taking them the last three days, so now I'm keyed up, scared of Kurt getting into a car accident ever night he's on delivery, which is most nights. I dream about Lucas drowning, and I can't get to him. I don't like to shower, because I can't see through the curtain. I'm jumpy to the point of appearing on drugs, and hey, I suppose I am. It's becoming pretty obvious again why I wanted to stop taking the damn things, I seem to develop a medium-key anxiety that's around perpetually, and is bloody exhausting.
Then again, as evidenced by the last little bit off prozac, thoughts of suicide, cutting, and other truly disturbing and depressing thoughts jump back into my head with staggering force and speed. It's a major case of The Giant's Drink, here. There's much support to be had, though, so it's not as bad as all that. 
