I guess I need to halve the Paxil. I've been prescribed Paxil; first, it was 10mg. Then 20mg. I've been taking the 20 for 6 nights (or 6 for 20 nights? Nooo...that would be plain silly). I'm looking at the days, one after another after another, then a few more, and nothing is getting accomplished! I mean, I'm taking care of my cats, doing laundry, the basic chores. Also some painting. Quite a bit of painting. Listening to music constantly. If the music goes off I will drop dead, right on the floor, due to suffocation. What will happen to my cats, then? NOT a good situation anyway you look at it.

My car broke down AGAIN and it's been in the shop for 12 damned days. The mechanic put a bum clutch in at the end of May and is having to replace the thing. I asked him What is taking so long? Every time I speak with him he says tomorrow...tomorrow....My husband spoke with the mechanic once (a single once), but is useless as far as caring for me AT ALL. He financially supports me because he's guilty about being a lousy husband (he is that).

The smoke from the wildfires is driving me crazy. Really crazy. This entire state is on fire, I'm not kidding. Look at it on an aerial photograph! My God, this state is burning up. And more fires keep coming, then more. It's like living inside of Dante's Inferno, right between the covers. Today I attempted a short walk to get
> out. of. here.<
Could not get deep breaths, my lungs wouldn't do the job. And I have perfectly healthy lungs. My heart was racing, beating in my shoulders and chest. I had to stop in the library entryway to stand in the a/c and get some breaths. Pretending to read their bulletin board so no one thought I was odd, crazy, or (most embarrassingly) sick.

I have had to cancel every appointment except pdoc...no therapy, nothing. For weeks. Why? Because I cannot spend so much time with my husband. He's a horror show. (We live one mile apart, thank God.) I have a pdoc appointment in 2 weeks. No reason to see her, really, any earlier; she has nothing to tell me at this point. Praying I will have my own car by then.

Anyway, you get the picture. I cry a lot. A lot. The world is so, so sad. It has been sad for...forever. What can change it? Not much, is my guess. I'd like to just lie in bed and read, but that's depressing to do before 9 p.m., anyway.

I was invited to fly to San Diego (if it hasn't burned down) in late September. I LOVE to fly and a time on the beach sure would be great. I am ashamed to tell you all that not one person close to me (my family) is willing to take care of my cats for 3 days. My husband, horror show of his life and my own, is too psychiatrically messed up to properly care for them. My daughter lives 15 miles from me and I care for her and her husband's cats/messy kitchen/dirty dishes/garbage/not-swept floor, etc. several times/year.

But: No. She cannot make the time to take care of mine, not even for a single day, not one time. (She is extremely selfish, a brat at the age of 33; I indulged her.) My son lives in SF, so I can't blame him. The traffic across the bridge is perfectly AWFUL; besides the whole thing is 85 miles west of my town. What would I do if I was sick? Had to enter the hospital? Then what? Thinking of the possibility terrifies me. Cats are very, very delicate beings. We have our ways of doing things, me and them. I sing them specific songs at specific times (I can sing very well; there are times when that saves me).

I'm very tired but there seems to be a carnival event inside my head; music, lights, spinning, the Works.

What do you think? Is this a mixed state? Has the Paxil caused this - or is it the smoke? Maybe cut it in half tonight? I'm worried I'll become depressed, but I'm already depressed. What's wrong with these people?

Why did my RED paint pen run out? Of all the pens? Not the purple (royalty), but RED! Ha, once (this was 33.4 years ago) I left a bright-red sweater in the waiting room of a psychiatry clinic. I can see it in my mind, quite vividly. I left that sweater on purpose, which is what I sometimes do with extra clothing that is in nice condition. You know: someone else will find it, can use it, will be happy with it. The red was scaring me, frankly. Well, it's time now to wash the dishes and feed the cats. I have to believe it will all be okay. There is no other option.
.Stop. (pretending this is an old-timey telegram that I recently spent 100 1886 $ to send).