I met a former colleague on the street last week. We chatted about stuff, including my divorce. She tells me: I knew the day I married him that I shouldn't have married him. But I stayed because I wanted kids. Sixteen years later we divorced.
I joke around a lot with the door guys. The one guy who only takes over for lunch is pretty damn funny - we get along very well. He's young-ish, married, and has 5 girls. Whew! Anyway, the other day I caught the transition time, so my regular door guy friend was taking over and the replacement had to go do other work. Noone was in the lobby. I thought he was walking down the stairs to the basement to do something, but he follows me into the elevator. I did a fake scream. He busted out laughing and said that any other place he'd been mad. But he was laughing hard. I think about that and damn, I'm nuts.
Oh, and despite all the warnings from my psychiatrist about the new level of medication I was supposed to take, I managed to screw it up. I was supposed to be taking 175 mg and instead I took 225 mg for a month. Apparently that's why I've been having trouble with waking up early (4 am every day), because there's too much 'up'. So now I take away the leftover antidepressant and we'll see how that goes. But really, it's working. I feel all the stuff that has been happening for the last year, but it's way muted. I can control it. Both good and bad. So, I'm happy.
Oh, and one thing from the weekend. M came over to help me Saturday, so I took him out to dinner. He really liked the place, which was good. Then we went for a walk and sat down in the beautiful night, and listened to a blues player. It was perfect, except for the fact that he wasn't my boyfriend. Oh well.