imprinted with A59 on the front.
It's the generic for Paxil.
And I haven't been taking mine.
I didn't intend to stop. I forgot to renew my prescription, and when I did, it hadn't been thirty days, so my insurance wouldn't put it through. When it did go through, the next day, I forgot to pick it up.
Fast forward about ten days, I realized that I am a mess. Sad, mad, crying at the drop of a hat. I am not, for the most part, a crier.
Last night, Martin and I decided we can't attend my 25th high school reunion. It's just not financially a sound move. I was completely willing to forgo my privacy and stay with my in-laws and recycle my dress from the 20th reunion, but my Indiana ass wouldn't fit into the dress. We'd also have to pay a dog sitter, all the stupid costs involved with a week-end road trip. I have two kids who start school on August 12. Dexter's book fee will be at least $150 and Mia's will be around $50. Not to mention school clothes. I'm not too worried about Dexter, he spent the last three weeks of school here looking like a homeless person, but I would like Mia to look like she doesn't dress in the dark.
Normally, something like not attending my high school reunion would bum me out a bit, but I wouldn't have a total freaking breakdown.
Which I did. Today. I went upstairs, laid on the bed with both my dogs, big and small, and cried. I cried because I am a loser. I can not organize my own house. I can not seem to get my arms around the fact that HEY! I'm a housewife! This is all there is! I haven't written one single word lately on any of the things I've been working on. Why? Cause it's dreck. Pure unadulterated SHIT. Who the hell would want to read it, when I don't even want to write it?
While I was lying on the bed moping, Dex came into the room and asked me what I was doing. I told him I was plotting an overthrow. He just looked at me and asked if I would help him change his earrings.
Martin is picking up my pills on the way home from work.