Down in The Dumps

Take the title as a hint of what this entry in about please. I’m feeling down in the dumps.

I realized today that over the last few months I had a bit of a time of it all. I left my husband (yes, I know self inflicted), my good girlfriend seems to have found better or more interesting friends and seems to have abandoned me despite me asking if everything is ok, my other good girlfriend is always at work and even when she isn’t lift f*ing miles away. My bestest bud went back to the States because the umbilical cord had stretched too far and was starting to hurt. I was robbed, I seem to have an infestation of mozzies, I don’t have air-con and the house is getting hotter. And I’m currently broke because of excess goodbye do’s and a couple of days sick.

Ohh yeah… and we can’t seem to sell the god-damn house on the Central Coast. Hubby keeps doing things to the house and car and not telling me because he thinks I can’t afford it, so I use the car and find new tyres, or I go to the house and find out there’s a new pool pump and cover. I may not be able to afford to assist, but I wish he’d tell me before so at least I can feel guilty before I’m trying to have a little fun. And I have to have the conversation with the woman who sold us a duff alpaca that can’t have babies.

I was also told the other day that no one will give me income protection becasue of my kidneys. So I have to save about 6 months of salary just in-case I get sick.

This morning I had trouble getting out of bed despite a decent amount, but restless sleep. I’ve been having trouble with sleep recently and I couldn’t put my finger on why. I think I may have figured it out. I’ve reached my limit of shit. I can’t take much more before I hit the top of the extremely slippery slope into depression.

I know I’m not there yet, but I can feel it coming. Having been there, done that before, I can feel the signs. Not wanting to get up, not being bothered to get dressed at the weekend, having an ironing pile that has strata levels, not eating ( I can’t be arsed to cook for just me) and just general malaise.

Not even the prospect of Cycle 9 of America's Next Top Model is cheering me up.

When I stop having my hair cut and painting my toe nails, please take me to the doctor.