Doctor. And Sad.

I went to the doctor today to get a refill and tell him I'm taking more of the med than he prescribed.
And he added on Cymbalta. And this stuff, yeah, it's supposed to be like a miracle drug. So let's see if it produces some miracles.
And I was really sad thinking about things. And the sun was not out --which always makes me sad. And then trying to explain to the doctor that I don't want to get as bad as last time. That I'd rather be dead than get that depressed and get that lost again. But I don't want to say that - because I don't want him to get all worried that I'm going to do myself harm. Because I don't want to do myself harm. And as I don't really believe in an afterlife - unless there is reincarnation - I don't want to be nothing under the ground. So, yeah, I don't want to be dead. At least not yet.
___________________

But!
I did text every one. And I did say - Hey, let's have a dress up party. And I put constraints on it. To Not Spend Money. Because, let's face it, we're all poor.
So my idea was this: Go pull something, some concoction out of your closet. Something we, hopefully, haven't seen before. A weird combination of clothing and turn that into a costume. So you could be slutty or dirty or fancy or a hipster doofus. I guess you could wear pajamas or that fancy, fancy dress that you bought but don't have an occasion to wear. That was my idea.
Plus, make it a pot luck. And everyone bring one bottle and we'll mix them all together and make a witch's brew.
We voted and Saturday night seems to be the night.

Something to look forward to. I hope it goes well.

I'm hoping that I am not too fat to wear this pretty, fancy, stupid dress that I bought - for no purpose other than it was on clearance and was sooo pretty, I couldn't not buy it. Let's see shall we?

Wish me luck.