Grouse is wise, and so is Tami.

And so is my Doc, who took one look at me today and said, “Before you can face any of that, you’ve got to heal the wounds.” And then he wrote me a nice prescription for an antidepressant and a referral for a counselor. And threatened to stick a tube down my stomach if those two things didn’t help that part.

I’m very ambivalent about antidepressants, but at this point I have to do something. Things obviously aren’t right, and just because I toughed it out and pulled myself up by the bootstraps last time doesn’t mean that I’m strong enough to do it again. Or that I really want to waste another five years of my life. I’m too old for that shit.

But I’m not thrilled about being cut off from my rebound guys, Mr. Light and Mr. Royal. Now what am I going to drink, milk? Yuck.