Well I just spent half an hour writing something and then I deleted it. If that's not demoralizing enough--spill your guts out then wipe it out, just to remind yourself that it all doesn't really matter anyway! My main theme today seems to be wallowing in sadness and sorrow. I left work yesterday for my psychiatric appointment, long-awaited because I was really interested in what he had to say about how and what I was doing. What he said was that I need to talk to someone. He made an appointment to talk to him in a month, but he thinks I'm not talking to other people enough. No, don't call your brother's wife that often, she needs her own time, a daily call to her is just not fair to her at all. Well I don't think I need to call someone that often, I talk to myself. Not good enough, says he. I'm not going to call someone up and say "Talk to me," just won't do that. I cry a lot, that helps, play with my dogs, that helps. I was having a dialogue with my sister but she just shit all over me and as usual, it turns out she has her own agenda anyway. I have a good friend I can call, and will soon call--she was a great source of support when Jamie left, but this is different. For one thing, she believes in life after death. So we'll see what I come up with. Truth is, there just arent' many people I want to talk to about this. Kristen, mostly, for the connection we have and the spontaneity we have when we say and think the same thing at the same time (I KNOW IT! I was just thinking that!). Other than that there just aren't many people who've been terribly helpful to me in this. My brother was usually pretty helpful at making me feel ok about myself. OK, so where is he now?

Snow this morning made it feel and look cold. Dogs were out all night, which meant Chances and I had the whole bed to ourselves but we got a crummy nights' sleep. I had bad dreams and woke feeling very, very bad. Physically and emotionally. Got to work late, met with book peddler and am now trying to figure out what is the appropriate time to go home. If I leave at 2, before the director is due in at 3, that means I will have worked 4 hours, a good half day. I've been cataloging crap, slowly and inefficiently so I'll switch to weeding fiction. That I do well.

My psychiatrist says of course I can't concentnrate on anything and don't feel motivated to do anything--that's fine, for now. If I still feel that way in 2 months then we need to take a closer look at it because that could signal depression. OK, I'll let you know. Yesterday I bought myself 3 six-packs of the palest yellow pansies imaginable, and 4 flats of nice purple ones with darker centers. Now there are only 3 six-packs of the purple ones, Tess. I can't fine the other six-pack anywhere. What the hell is that all about? Doesn't that seem a bit cruel--I'm trying to make myself feel better, here, bring a piece of normalcy to my life, my pansies that I have every single year on my deck.

At least I've picked my head up from my desk and have stopped crying softly. Fortunately there's only my clerk on the other side of the partition. I'm sure she knows what's going on but she's pretty nice to me. Other people aren't in today. I need more privacy at work, that's for sure. I need privacy in life.

I'm off to RI on Friday. Liza called to say how excited she is that I'm coming to see her. Glad someone is--it's not a trip I'm thrilled to be making, but it will be nice. We'll go plant shopping on Sunday and that's always fun. I know my role is to cheer both of them up and I can do that in spells. I have to take all three dogs because I can't afford to board Jackson. Yuck. Who will come visit me to cheer me up? Oh Grace, oh Margaret--where are you? You cheer everyone up, you're just too cute.

Into the stacks, I'm still in the M's.