On Monday I began putting anti-anxiety meds back into my system. Which means I spent Tuesday being depressed as fuck, and much of today being mildly nervous. I'm sick of this, honestly. I'm exhausted. I want my brain back. I made a fool of myself at the coffee shop because I was scrolling through my news feed and there was some thing about an animal shelter and their efforts to rehome orphaned kittens and I started crying like a complete idiot because the headline was, "Shelter vows to save 1,500 little lives this year."

ANYWAY. I'm trying to handle business and get back to normal routines. I went for a run this afternoon after a gentle reminder from Fox that I like to run and I usually feel better afterwards. I'm getting my bloodwork tomorrow and then getting my mammogram, and I called for a follow-up with my dermatologist about my rosacea. I also have a tick bite to keep up on, since I fucked up and didn't get the head (I'm usually good at getting the little assholes out) and then ended up managing to pull bits of the head out before the area got too swollen and bloody to deal with. It's all scabbed up right now but the body typically expells the heads in a week or so. It's also (so far) not developing the bull's eye rash that indicates infection. My GP's office said that if anything weird happens a walk-in clinic can handle it, and since the rash isn't there I should be all right. The student loan people are pestering me, but there's nothing I can do about them right now. My brain is still tending to flip out over minor things, but not nearly as badly as last week. Hopefully I'll soon be back in super hero mode.

Mr. Crowley has been on the job through this whole thing. He's a tuxedo long-hair that I rescued back in 2012 at the farmers' market. Someone dumped a litter of kittens and I took him home. They said he's the only one who survived. These kittens were MAYBE four weeks old. His eyes were so gunky he could barely see and he was so flea-ridden his gums were white. So I spent the weekend bottle-feeding him and rubbing his butt with a warm rag to make him potty, then Monday the vet said, "Well, if he's still alive in six weeks, bring him back in." Not only was he alive, he was thriving. :) He bonded pretty closely with me and follows me around the house like a fluffy shadow. He's also very good at noticing anxiety and depression in me, and will stick extra close. All last week he slept near the head of my bed, and he never sleeps in bed with someone unless he's cold. I considered making him a service animal, but he likes going out in public about as much as I do. And they fucked up the ADA regulations on service animals pretty badly.

And yes, he's named after that Crowley.

So anyway, I did three miles at about 80% of my race pace and felt pretty good. Showered up and used baby powder and everything, which means I'll want to wash off tomorrow before I head out. I'll get those bento pics up probably tomorrow afternoon. They're not amazing or anything - I have a very small collection of boxes and accessories.