I think I should have opted for Prozac

OH. mydog.

Last night? After the wonderful graduation ceremony and reception that followed, Dusty and I decided, we wanted to be anti-social, go back to my house, drink some good margaritas and have a good bitch session.

In spite of all the good energy, deep down, this has been a weird week. Not just for me, but for a lot of people here in town.

I’ve heard several people comment that they couldn’t wait for this week to be over. And those same people couldn’t really put their finger on why. Dusty and I were in the same boat.

It’d been an exciting week. Breakup finally got here, and it was spectacular to watch. The river is now open and we’ve had lots and lots of sunshine and warm weather. We got fresh flowers flown in for Mother’s Day. There really hasn’t been a whole lot to fret about. But yet, everyone seems to be acting weird.

Last night, Dusty filled me in on what he was told by the psychiatrist who was visiting this week: In Alaska, during this time of year, suicide rates go up, much like they do during the first few weeks of constant darkness in the winter. Only instead of our Seratonin drastically dropping due to a sudden lack of sunlight, it goes hay-wire and rises to extreme levels because suddenly, we’ve got almost constant sunlight. Some people never notice but other people are deeply affected by it. I guess he and I and the other complainers were in that group. It really explains a lot.

We were sitting in the living room last night, the three of us: Dusty, myself, and Howard, and we gossiped and bitched until nearly 2am. I had to be at work at 9:00 to train my new book keeper. I don’t think I need to explain to you again how cranky I get when I don’t get my 8 hours. I know I did it to myself. So I sucked it up and put on my happy face.

The rest of the day, was a nightmare. One fiasco after another. At one point, Dusty was in the store, he saw I was in a frenzy, and I didn’t even have to ask. He just rose to the occasion. He’s become like another husband.

When I called my real husband at home, and told him what happened, he felt awful. But I refused to allow him to come into work and help me. “They’ll bitch me out for the overtime!” I whined. “Fuck ‘em!” he said. God, I love that man. I seriously wish I could have his attitude. And then when I came home, he had Mexican food (my favorite!) hot and ready with a big hug and a passionate kiss waiting for me, and afterwards served me up a bowl of Blue Bunny Peanut Butter Panic, with Whipped Cream and a cherry on top. We then watched Tuckerville, Little People, Big World and Shalom in the Home. (TLC on Saturday nights has become my new favorite thing on tv) Could he be any more perfect? Not when other men would have expected toe curling sex as a reward. (which is not to say I won’t give him toe curling sex..but tonight, I needed comfort, and trust me, as a woman, when we’ve had a bad day, nothing beats a bowl of ice cream and good tv.)

I’m hoping this week went out with a bang and tomorrow will be better. My seratonin better get over itself. It’s fucking sunlight, what’s the big damn deal? Straighten the hell out. I’m crazy enough as it is.

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