Saturday: very quiet, stayed at home, a certain amount of chat with partner.
Sunday: went to my aunt's to gossip and watch GBBO and Frasier. This was put on pause when Infamous Cousin, his girlfriend, and two friends showed up to pick up Boat.
Boat is a dog. She's a German Shepherd (perhaps a mix?) with one constantly upward-pointed ear and one ear that mostly flops but sometimes flaps and points when she's doing radar-ears about something. She is 70 pounds of complete love, love that wants to hug you without your permission and share your peanut butter. She's also dog-reactive, got separation anxiety, and has recently learned how to climb 8 foot wooden fences. (Her rear legs were off the ground and front legs were over the top, according to my aunt.)
My aunt very much misses the poodle.
Monday: also quiet, wrestling with sleep schedule and preparing for Fishie's visit and chatter with partner (always). Plus some undignified laboratory homework. ( TMI )
Today: whooooo boy. Aforementioned lab drop-off, then I picked up quartzpebble
and we went all the way out to the back of beyond to talk with the sleep neurologist who wasn't Dr. Asshole.
Appointment went okay. This doctor wasn't at all sure what to do with a patient whose depression is rapidly and *extremely* worsened by sleep deprivation (she inquired with some urgent concern whether I was feeling like that now
, as she'd have to report that; I was not; she recommended that I see my psych crew to get that taken care of, which MISSED THE POINT ENTIRELY, that if I follow her instructions I'd probably need to be taken inpatient, and if I don't try to fuck with my sleep schedule, I'm pretty much all right except pretty fucking disabled due to the level of difficulty I have maintaining a modern business type schedule), and whose AD(H)D interferes with any and all "sleep hygiene" things that amount to "just get fantastically bored and you'll go to sleep", and whose budget does not presently include a CPAP. (Also, the mouth appliance thing costs more than a CPAP, and stuff in my mouth when I sleep is a hard limit after the misadventures of 1996/1997.) And there's some advice (not all of which can be followed and keep me sane), and there's a CBT class (cognitive behaviour therapy, not the other one), the contents of which I will
be running past my Top and perhaps also my morail, as they are among the safeguards against me putting stuff in my head which needs to not be in there.
I only cried a little.
Soooooooo... compared to the appointment with Dr. Asshole
, this went astonishingly well.
F and I had a few misadventures in finding a place for food. We settled on a diner. Lumpy's was closed already, since it was a Tuesday. Digger's was astonishingly difficult to find. I refueled, then we finally located it. The sign is not night-friendly, and very stylized.
Food was good. One of the great things about a diner that plays oldies and classic rock -- very little chance of getting the Wham!
The drive back was pretty much uneventful. Except now quartzpebble
smells enough like Purple that I kept getting the "Oh, there's Purple!" pings in my brain. THIS IS WEIRD.
My partner called when I was on the way home, and we talked about stuff. Logistics for some things are difficult.
I talk to my (prescribing) psych tomorrow, and I'll probably poke Purple for dinner. Whee!