Stop the world. Just stop it.

 Guess what I've googled so far today:

    - "Does expired escitalopram still work?" (no, bestie)

I've already ugly-cried today. And felt incredibly guilty over getting snippy with a random eight-year-old. I know better than that. I could justify it by saying I felt protective of my kid (and, yeah, I did) but also - unnecessary, Clara. What the fuck. I'm not even sure if she knew what happened, but she grasped enough to stop interrupting my trying desperately to get L to do the morning board and left us the hell alone. In as far as I have a plan (and I don't have much of one), I guess it's to apologize to the kid this afternoon. *sigh* 

Moving forward (although maybe I shouldn't) with mocha vanilla amaretto latte with three shots of espresso from the coffee hut by my house and this with Murder She Wrote on in the background. My cat doesn't care, because I fed her. My daughter just knows that something's off with me. And I feel shitty about that too. I'm supposed to be steady for her. 

I miss my old therapist. 

I wish the world weren't falling apart quite as much as it is.

I need to be a better parent.

I wish I could move on gracefully; why does it always have to be traumatic?

Maybe I should just move in with my parents.

I need to get it together to interview people in a few hours.

I need to get it together to go by the troopers and fill out a form.

I need to do all the things I meant to do yesterday.

I need to pack up.

I need to do laundry.

I need to breathe.

I need community and instead I feel (mostly) judged (not by everyone, but - you know; it's the RSD).

I'm struck today with terror for the future rather than the cautious optimism I have been feeling - and I know it's mainly a combination of hormones and circumstance, but it still. Fucking. Sucks.

All right. That's enough. Time to be more like Jessica.