There are seventeen bullet points in this post.

Thursday night I had a lovely dinner out with my mom and brother.  There was much drama in the planning but none whatsoever in the execution.  (Unless you count the gi-normous blister on one of my toes, which I should have left the hell alone.)

Friday...I'm not sure how to characterize it.  I don't think it would meet the clinical definition of a panic attack, but it was way, way past an ordinary lousy mood.  I think it was basically a clusterfuck of self-loathing and decision-making:

• where to take the car for maintenance, since there is a very scary light on the dashboard and I need an oil change anyway
• have I voided various warranties by being slack about oil changes (almost certainly not, but still)
• should I reactivate my law license or not (running smack into an expensive continuing-ed obligation if I do)
• should I pay my church pledge all at once or stretch it out monthly, since it's due at the same time as bar fees
• do we really have to get new primary care doctors, or have the billing issues of the last month just  been a glitch (sure, the new doctor sounds great, but we adore current ones and have been with them for years; on the other hand, they don't seem to like our insurance anymore)
• what if new doctor says something critical about my age, weight, lack of babies, or all three
• should I get my Depo shot next time
• what if it takes 2-3 years for my periods to start up again
• what the hell do we use in the interim (waiting to have 3 regular periods), during which I'm still not supposed to get pregnant
• am I seriously thinking about futzing with my crazy meds?!
• should I go to the play tonight, technically by myself, even though I will definitely know people there
• should I go to Pride on Saturday, even though I might overheat, because it's important to me and I'll regret missing it
• will I ever like my hair again, because its texture has morphed into something one could sell for scrubbing pots, and the gray is back with reinforcements after 3 weeks
• am I going to end up bald instead, because I seem to have traded biting my nails and cuticles for yanking out hairs that I deem "weird" 
• should I address, with loppers, my hair the towering lavender bush that makes it difficult to see when backing out of the driveway and is fully occupied by loud, fuzzy bees
• this new squishy keyboard can go in the dishwasher if I spill something on it but my God, shifting is a nightmare, and I NEED my capitals and exclamation points!!!!!
• etc., etc. 

So, in retrospect, that is quite a lot of shit to put oneself through all in one fell swoop, and also, pelting my husband with most of it as soon as he walked in from work was not exactly the healthiest way to deal, either. On the other hand, bonus points should be awarded because I refrained from phoning him up.

I ended up staying home from both the play and Pride, which kind of sucks. But if I was flipping out that much about going, maybe not going was the better option. Walking the parade route with church is highly uplifting but both times has resulted in rushing myself home to Gatorade and a cold shower.  So I will take a shift tabling, under a tent, next year.  And the play is something that will probably be restaged soon.

Then I woke up before 8 this morning and realized, contrary to recollections of careful planning, that I threw out two empty prescription bottles, apparently without calling in or picking up the refills.  This is not a crisis and shoulding all over myself is not going to help, and if anything, the short pick-up trip has donuts on the way, and according to the manual, may even result in the stupid dashboard light righting itself.