I knew it had been a while, but 25 days? Ouch.

When things are going badly (read: meds not working well, PTSD riding my not-inconsiderable ass, parenting generally challenging me beyond my limits) I tend to turn into a hermit. I don't want to be out there. I definitely don't want to have to be the funny fat girl for hours on end.

I don't know what to make of the fact that my psych (who, imho, is a genius with the patience of a saint) finds dealing with sexual abuse survivors 'boring'. Honestly, it smarts a little. I'm telling you about the murkiest, most disturbing parts of my life and you're bored? Maybe I need some kind of snappy song and dance routine to make it more interesting. Thinking about it though, it makes sense. There must be so much repetition, so great a pattern to it all that it's inevitable that it becomes tedious. I'm just having a hard time processing that 'boring' doesn't imply that I'm boring. God forbid that I'm boring ;) Mad. Addicted to chocolate and great coffee. Prone to long and ahem involved fantasies about Hugh Laurie in a darkened room. But boring? never.

The next post won't be like this, I promise. I promise you little fluffy kittens, rainbows and whole choruses of Julie Andrews lookalikes.

Okay, maybe not the last. But you get my drift...