As nice as it may look, I’m thinking I won’t add pics to next year’s journal here in Word. I’ll just bold the dates as usual and leave it at that. 

Still no real anxiety since last Wednesday or Thursday, but I’m slightly worried about it being the start of the workweek given the fact that I’m mostly on days again and will be aware of how much time I will be spending alone. Not too worried, though. I have a lot to do to keep me busy, and knowing I’ll be seeing my therapist in a few days, the doctor in 17 days, and have more chill pills than I need, helps a bit. Sure hope I don’t have to take a chill pill, though, cuz that will make me drowsy and could interfere with the flipping of my schedule so I can make my therapy appointment without falling asleep on her. 

Yesterday at 8:30, the hammering started. I thought to myself, you gotta be kidding! It’s 8-fucking-30 on a Sunday! But then I realized it didn’t sound right for being Bob, didn’t last more than a few seconds, and then I saw that they weren’t even home next door anyway. So it wasn’t Bob. I’ll be so fucking pissed if he’s at it during Andy's visit, though. SO fucking pissed. I’m sure I’ll have to hear it at least once during the week. Thank goodness I moved my computer to the other side of the house even if it can still be heard in there too, if I don’t crank up some music. I like it better in here either way. It’s cozier and more office-like, and my chair rolls over the floor easier than it did the carpet. 

The sky pigs are at it again, flying round and round in circles. They’re not directly overhead but near enough to be heard. I asked Tom why he thinks there’s been so much of this lately at night, and sometimes during the day, and he thinks the cops got a new helicopter. So I guess they’re training fellow piggies to fly their new toy. 

Been keeping a journal now for 27 years!