Sunday, January 13, 1991

Well, I’m still feeling like shit, unfortunately. There’s no feeling worse than wanting to pick yourself up, be happy, be productive, but you just can’t. My asthma’s killing me and I’m still under mega-stress. Way more so than I’ve been in a long time. I mean, this has got to stop, but I feel helpless. Like I don’t know where to begin to help myself. It just isn’t always easy. I miss those days when I was productive non-stop and could physically bounce off the walls for endless hours. I was a dancer. Now I take two steps and my heart’s racing or I’m wheezing or both. I wanted to kill myself for getting so out of breath with only two bags of groceries to carry up. Two years ago I could’ve run up those stairs 20 times.

I still can’t stand having Andy here. Even if I lived with Brenda I’d go nuts, even though she’d be easier to live with cuz she’s more easygoing and calm compared to Andy.

Andy looked at a room on Mulberry St., but I’m afraid he’ll be here much longer than I can stand. Andy and I will remain friends, but I may move to CT since there’s nothing for me here and Andy and I will save money and then maybe move to PHX.

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