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Yes, yes, I know that's not how you spell recycle.  But Kays was singing the recycle song this morning (there is actually a recycle song and IMO it's kinda catchy) (although Two Kinds of Seagulls cracks me the hell up just because of the guest singer).  Wait, where  was I?  Oh, yeah, so Kays is singing R-E-C-Y-C-L-E and I started singing it to the tune of R-E-S-P-E-C-T.  Except it doesn't work unless you add an extra letter.  So there you go.

I usually log on here to read what other people have written.  I haven't had an entry in slightly over a year; I don't really know why.  Not because I didn't have anything to say - trust me, if you knew me, you'd know I *always* have plenty to say. (Apologies to my friends out there, I know I talk a lot.  Make me shut up every now and then, why don't you.) (Every time over the last week that I've typed the word shut, I've typed shit the first time.  Sometimes even the second time.  Does anyone else have this problem?)  Anyway, I have things to say but I don't always know how to say them.  When I write in a public forum I often feel the need to be funny or entertaining in some way.  I was using this place as my private weight loss journal for a few days (yay for stick-to-it-iveness!) and of course those entries were just whining and bitchy.  But usually if I am going to sit down and write a "hey there, this is what's going on with me" entry, I try to make it light and amusing for those (2) people reading it.  Sometimes I just can't find a way to bring the laughs, so I often skip the writing altogether.

Except my last entry.  Holy shit, dude (that time I did actually mean to type shit).  Talk about heavy, heavy self-loathing and depression.  I should print that out and show it to my therapist(s) and psychiatrist and counselor.  Then they'd all *have* to believe me when I say I've improved quite a lot over the last year.  I can't believe I felt like that, day after day, and didn't kill myself.  Honestly.  It horrifies me that much to read such sentiments and know that was how I felt, all the time.  I want to go back to last year and tell that poor, sad version of myself that things can get better, *will* get better.  Light at the end of the tunnel and all that jazz.  Clap on!

So, yeah, I'm feeling better these days.  As mentioned above, I have a cadre of doctors these days looking after my mental health.  All the years of being on and off meds and I had never had therapy until a short while ago.  I swear, it should be illegal to prescribe depression meds without requiring counseling.  The two go together like pb&j, peas & carrots, salami & cream cheese (don't knock it 'til you've tried it).  Therapy has done me a world of good ... it's killing my wallet, but saving my life and my marriage, so I guess that balances things out.

Also, in news that the world is as of yet unaware (and will remain unaware, as my vast readership of (2) people already know this), I am pregnant.  A surprise, for sure.  My 'baby' is going to be 6 in a few years and I never dreamed we'd have another.  I'm so glad that I started the process of fixing myself and my life *before* I got that + sign; as hysterical as I was when I found out, I can't imagine how I would have handled the news even 6 months ago (well, I can see myself running screaming through the streets, but since I don't run I'm not really sure that's an accurate vision).  My husband is taking it quite well himself, and I think we are both coming around to the whole idea.  I'm also looking at the possibility of being a daytime SAHM/telecommuter, doing administrative work for the dog training company I'm now associated with.  And with N just having received his Super Duper Mr. Spyman Top Secret SHHHH! Don't Tell Anyone clearance (that's the real title, I swear), he could potentially get a job paying lots more with a schedule that doesn't make me want to throw sharp knives at his bosses.  That would be pretty cool, but he's not looking at the moment, it's just something he's got in his pocket for down the road.  It's nice to have things in your pocket.  Unless those things are crayons and your pockets are in the dryer, but I digress.

Mainly I wrote this because as I've slowly climbed out of the dark hole I was living in (no, I'm not talking about my bedroom) (get out of my house right now!), I hated seeing the previous entry every time I logged onto my profile.  I'm not up for posting something full of sweetness and light and rainbow-shitting unicorns, but this will do.  I'm pretty happy these days and working toward very.  I think that's all anyone can ask for.

That, and chocolate chip cookie dough.  One can always - always - ask for chocolate chip cookie dough.

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You remember how I would just call sometimes and nervously ask if everything was okay? Those entries were pretty much my reasoning.

I hate reading back over my old (read: 2001-2005) entries, because they really are just pure self-spite and what is happy stuff is mostly delusions about my "perfect" relationships.

Buuut, you're right, it is kind of nice to be able to reflect over how far you (general "you") have come via journal entries.

I'm glad you've posted an update. :)

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