I don't know why I find it so hysterically funny when I get a clean bill of health from a shrink, but I do.
With the new med switch-up, my pain doc wanted to be sure she wasn't masking symptoms of other problems, and sent me off to the shrink they've got attached to the chronic pain clinic. (Depression and chronic pain can look a lot alike.) That was this morning. Now my pain doc will be reassured and I'll build up a rep for being cooperative, and it's all good.
As I told the shrink, I didn't really WANT to do the appointment, but there's no good way to frame the "I don't need a shrink!" argument and sound sane. So, fine, Hi.
Besides, it was the responsible thing for my pain doc to do, and I should always support the responsible stuff, not just when it's convenient. Right?
Bah. Pain in the butt.
I seem to have dyed the ugliest yarn in the history of the world. No, really. I've got this earth-tones thing going on in my living room, and I wanted some variegated yarn to knit this afghan with. And I wanted practice dyeing darker colors.
I wound up with fug.
Of course who knows when I'll get to it with the ten thousand other things I've got on the needles. At least it's starting to sound like me again, huh? Before you know it, I'll be setting myself ridiculous, arbitrary deadlines for no good reason.