Today is bad and good. The Boyo spent the night here, and we made love in the morning. (I call him The Boyo because he is ten years younger than I am.) That’s the good part. The bad part is that my Dad, who has been ailing for a couple of months, is back in ICU. I fear he will not make it out of the hospital alive. However, he has fooled me before. Also bad, my left arm where the plates and screws are is killing me, Friday, my service dog, peed on the floor because she is jealous of the time I spend alone in bed with The Boyo, (thank goddess I have linoleum in the apartment) and despite the promised sun, it’s starting to cloud up here in Seattle. Just the thing for a depressive with a Seasonal Affective Disorder component. I know, bitch, bitch bitch.
I see my therapist later today. I now have to decide whether to change therapists, or pay sliding scale for my therapy, thanks to funding cuts in Medicaid. The agency with the therapist I have been seeing for three years is not going to take Medicaid anymore. I could switch to the already overburdened Community Psychiatric Centers, but then I would have to start all over again with a therapist. That is, if I can even get to see a therapist weekly under the new regieme. I am going on a NO Carb diet. No Cheyne, no Ashcroft, no Rumsfeld, no Bush.