Here we go again with the cool spells. It says it’s 60° out there, but it sure felt like 50° when we were out walking.

Anyway, I’m feeling worse today than I did yesterday. Worse enough to have to take a lorazepam like I just did not too long ago.

Not liking that Tom’s on his way to work, but at least we have a 4-day weekend coming up. Really hoping I can enjoy it without feeling shitty so much of the time.

While I still agree that my problem isn’t all due to the meds, I still think most of it is. I just wonder when we’re going to get my dosage right or if I’m going to have to quit the shit altogether. He thinks it’ll take a month before I start feeling better. The question is how come it only took a total of three skips the last two times I had an anxious spell to back off the anxiety? Yet I’ve now skipped a total of five times and I’m still feeling waves of anxiety on and off.

I just wonder how many other factors are involved for sure and how long they’re going to continue to torture me. There are the meds, the perimenopause, psychological factors, what’s going on in my life, and possibly negative energy trapped in this house. Anything else I might not be thinking of?

We started a game. Well, I came up with the idea and shared it with Tom. It’s something I do when I’m alone as a means of distracting myself from focusing too much on my anxiety while I’m alone. I wrote a list of fortysomething subjects, and about a dozen names containing people I’ve met in this state, including a couple of story characters. First I use a random number generator between one and however many topics I have and match the number to the list. Then I do the same with the people who, unfortunately, are mostly doctors. The subjects range from negative to neutral to positive and can be anything from places I’ve lived to hobbies I enjoy. Yesterday, Dr. O had to “interview” me all about the tilted dump we rented in Oregon. Today, Dr. L will be interviewing me about the duplex.

Last night I dreamed I was in a hotel somewhere. I was lying on the bed on my side gazing at a tan-colored cloth wall hanging of some kind that might’ve had some decorative embroidery on it.

Then Tom was driving a car that didn’t have a steering wheel. Instead, it had long ropes that you held sort of like a horse’s reigns. I asked about some package we were expecting, and he said he would check on it. So he handed me the ropes as he got up to check in back of our longish vehicle. I had no problem steering but I realized I couldn’t reach the brake pedal from where I sat and this unnerved me.

Then I worked in a grocery store where a female manager seemed to “recruit” a certain type of young girl into what I suspected was a relationship with her in order to benefit somehow or to give the girls something they needed, probably money and other things. I don’t know if the girls were underage, but I knew that whatever they were doing was against policy. The manager was clearly abusing her position as manager. While attending my register she walked by with a girl and I boldly said, “Typical short brunette with glasses.”

Knowing exactly what I was implying, she fired me right on the spot. For a moment I was torn between trying to beg back my job with a slew of apologies and promises to keep my mouth shut in the future, and what I would tell my parents if I couldn’t save my job or decided not to bother to try to.