Bad news.

Doc called me last night at like 8pm. He's got a DVT - big ass blood clot - in his leg. If he doesn't listen to the docs and tries to get up on his own or whatever the thing could dislodge, move to his lungs and kill him. *sigh*.

I'm going to get in the bath now, then go over there and try to explain the importance of this to him, hopefully he will effin listen.

Last night I cleaned my bathroom, which always fucks my back, then pilled myself up, read magazines in my bed for a couple hours while I listened to Elliott Smith, then fell asleep. Woke up every hour on the hour almost, it was totally weird. But somehow I feel well-rested. Or maybe this is just defeat?

I'm going to hide out again tonight, clean the rest of the apartment, play with my fuzzies, pluck out a few songs on the axe, make something yummy for dinner... Yeah, that's the plan.

Whatevs.

Dad's hip was a success, they say.

Saturday I slept 11 hours. Sunday I slept 9 hours (it was 11, but I subtracted a couple for tossing and turning). How is it I can still be exhausted?

Some advice: Mixing tequila and rum leads to very bad things. Like throwing up. Yeah. Nuff said. So much for my drying out. Going to try this plan again...

Sometimes I just don't know what I want. Honestly. Stress = paralysis in making even the smallest decisions... I know this has to be frustrating to deal with.

Attorney appointment tomorrow. Loose divorce ends. Like making sure I don't get stuck with his thousands of dollars of bills. And how I can ensure he has to stay away from me. I think this has put me on edge and made me more sensitive than usual. I refuse to turn into one of those chicks that wrongly assumes that all men are evil. All I know is that I'm not very good at being loved.