I’ve fought every urge to head to Albertsons and buy a half-gallon of Twix ice-cream, Pringles, Funions, and Otis Spunkmeyer cookies. I look at my bed and consider hunkering down–but I’m not sleepy. I know that’s a sign of depression–sleeping a lot. Stay awake, keep awake.
So I do what I do best. Clean. Let the OCD kick in. Do something. Something mindless so I don’t start thinking, reminiscing, getting sad.
The bitch has gotten her just desserts.