Because I didn’t write last night or this morning. The novel is going fine and, after a couple of discussions, is actually turning into something it wasn’t planned to be but should make it better in the end result. Yay. I’ll write tonight before ANTM and I’m actually looking forward to the upcoming scene.

But right now I’m drained, frustrated and discouraged. You see, I’m preparing for the next two dr appointments and, well, I’m tired. Yes, I asked for all of this (well, the finding out part, not the having something to find bit, not that) and, yes, I’ll see it through to whatever end there is, but last night and today I feel like throwing in the towel. It’s just a low day, y’all, nothing to be overly concerned about, but the truth of the matter is that sometimes you just get low and you want to give up, but you won’t, so you wallow a bit, let it all out, and hopefully emerge in better head-space and with renewed vigor and drive. At least that’s what *I* hope will happen. Eh.

Also, what kicked off this bit of mental morass was last night when I stopped at Walgreens there was a beggar hanging out by the door, panhandling. Now, I admit, this makes me uncomfortable. Beggars make me incredibly uncomfortable. I don’t know if it’s because I grew up knowing that we were barely hanging on ourselves, but we hung on and Mom worked her ass off to provide the necessities and maybe a few extras now and then or what. Maybe it’s the realization that but for the grace of god go I, who knows. And maybe it’s because you can never tell who really deserves the help and who is just too damn lazy to seek the help that is out there. (Yes, I said it, lynch me later) I have a strict policy of not giving money to panhandlers, but sometimes when I’m able and they ask for food or something, I will do that. Because I can see the value in feeding someone, though its paltry in comparison to what they truly need.

But I was polite, I said ‘I’m sorry sir, no I cannot’ to his request. But for a little while I felt very self-conscious about my own standing in life. I drive a brand-new car (which if any of you have read this for a while you know why it’s so new and why I’m not still rattling around in that oft-repaired Prism or even the used Saturn…), dress nicely, can afford to pay my bills and have a little extra left over to play with (usually… this month is pretty tight because of aforementioned medical bills and upcoming copays–but again, I can [barely] afford it, so there’s not a problem, it’s just not as fun as what I usually spend that money on). But I spent the ride home feeling incredibly guilty for all of that. Then I got mad. You know, I work hard and have worked hard for everything I have. In general, things don’t get handed to me, I earned them. I also don’t ask or expect anyone else to provide me with what I need to get by nor what I want to make life easier for me. And yet, here I was feeling guilty for having a pretty decent life. What the hell is up with that?

So, yeah, anyway, what happens after I get mad? For those who don’t know, anger usually lasts about 15 minutes with me then I feel guilty for being angry, for having strong feelings, blah blah yadda yadda yadda. Sheesh! With all of this built in guilt I should have just stayed a Catholic (no offense, really, but come on… we know it’s true). But this guilt snowballed into that small voice in the back of my head that wants to know why I’m being such a pain in the ass to all these doctors. Why, when it’s really little things, after all I’m not in vast amounts of pain nor am I on death’s door, am I persisting in this pursuit? Of course I know the answer (because something is wrong and I need to know what it is so that it can be fixed) but when the mind is going through the blender, what results is this: a low day with me listening to Meat Loaf (who was emo before emo was cool… or wasn’t, or something, I don’t know), Allison Krauss, KT Tunstall and Madelaine Peyroux [only the sad slow stuff today, remember, I’m wallowing].