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Procrasti-not

I made the appointment to see the doctor about getting a referral to see a shrink to sort out my mental issues. [...that chased the rat that ate the malt that lay in the house that Jack built] This is... some momentous momentum for me.

I've been procrastinating about this since my friendo came to visit and assist in the great unfuckening. But I'm running out of stuff to procrastinate about and making me do the thing, even now, has been an uphill battle.

I've been... mostly okay... at pretending to be normal. Normal-ish. Functionally weird. Acceptably bizarre... for roughly forty-four years.

But it's getting obvious that I have enough issues to run a periodicals library, so I need some actual help that doesn't put anyone out of their way.

And the mental effort required to pull that off is... well, it took most of my reserves. Again. Plus I'm in that peculiar state where I can't tell whether my difficulty breathing is a stress issue, an asthma issue, or a depression issue. Either way, it's a day of sighs for me.

But it's a day of sighs with the ball beginning to roll towards help. And not up and down Sisyphus' hill like usual.

Inertia is a harsh mistress.

I got the floor clean. Huzzah. I have to get a new battery for my floor-mopping bot because I love it and I can't afford a new one. Boo. I have to finish those earrings, do my story, and work on at least one book.

And sort out a dinner, sometime in the middle of all that.

Not helped by Mayhem being obstinate again. I need help from my family that is rare in happening. But, on the plus side, I witnessed Beloved helping with Chaos' hair. This is a stunning rarity and I encourage the novelty.

And I've started gassing about getting one of those makeover dollies so that everyone can practice.

There's so much gas about me, that it's amazing I'm not Jupiter.