I’m frazzled, angry, afraid, exhausted. I’m nervous. I feel guilty. I feel desperate.  I want to run. I’m raw, sensitive, trigger happy. I paint. I draw and I move about the house, task to task, without a connection to anything. I’m just in limbo waiting for my girl to either get better or worse. Right now she’s holding.

This is the little temporary art area I have set up. It’s my dinner table but having supplies out here means I can be closer to Jane.

I work on one drawing then put it to the side and pick up another. I turn the page and do a few lines then turn the page and repeat it. I’m running from myself. My heart is desperate. 

Wishful Thinking fmaI’ve been sleeping on the sofa but I need to be in my own bed tonight.

Tomorrow is my very last visit with the dentist.

I drank wine as I mopped up wine from yesterday’s explosion.  I took the bottom drawer to the oven out and cleaned the floor. I swept the bottom cabinets and mopped part of the floor. I’ll do the rest of the floor Wednesday. I won’t be worth anything tomorrow.

Robert’s session with Dr. D was intense and full. He purged himself of all those details. He and Dr. D also discussed what happened the other day in session. Something isn’t right about Dr. D right now. Something is off. We had a heart to heart, a much needed one.

My immune system is feeling the stress of these times. I see a doctor the Tuesday after this. It’s the same crazy lady who suggested I have shock treatment. My right hand is infected and the skin of the first digit on my index finger and next to the pinkie has turned to leather. They’re hard to move. Thank goodness I’m ambidextrous. And thank goodness for spell check because I never could have spelled that word. The infection on my hand was before the wine explosion fiasco.


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