Yet another houseguest ::grins::

Tomorrow morning, I roll out of bed, pull my hair into a still-unwashed ponytail, slap on a little makeup and drive to the airport to pick up my best friend, Carrie. She hasn't been to Memphis since my wedding nearly three years ago. (And it's been embarrassingly long since I've visited her in Florida ... don't remind me.)

It's been strange (but cool) sharing the house with Matt; it should be stranger (but cooler) sharing the house with Matt and Carrie. I hope they get along okay -- they differ quite a bit in their outlook on life. And they've got to duke it out for who gets to sleep on the bed and who has to have the futon. Actually, it's a very comfy futon. But whatever.

The great thing about Carrie is that every time she comes home (this is her home -- always will be), it's like she and I pick up right where we left off. No pretense. Just mugs of coffee and tea, lots of music and plenty of pinball machines. :) I think that's the measure of a true friend -- how well the years melt away, making things once again right as rain.

I've avoided posting about me the past few days ... I mean about how I'm feeling. It shouldn't be hard to tell. My writing is as jumbled as my thoughts, tangled and messy.

I might as well just come out and say the suicidal thoughts are much stronger and more often these days. I'm not going to go into specifics because somebody will get stupidheaded and try to have me committed. And it's not like that. Monday, I have a (short) shrink appointment, to which I'll probably drag both Matt and Carrie. I may even let Matt talk to Dr. Boyd because Matt's well-educated on drugs and stubborn enough to not let Boyd push me around.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm bipolar, cycling through extreme anxiety and extreme depression. It's not for me to decide.

I quit therapy a couple of weeks ago. I wasn't getting anything out of it. The depression got worse after that. I dreamed that Miriam was coming to kill me ... and that my sink was full of maggots (don't know how that fits in). The nightmares are there whether I'm depressed or anxious, kind of like an old friend ready to greet me when I sleep. I wake up exhausted. I've started taking sleeping pills again.

I just want to get it all figured out before I lose it for good. Or maybe losing my mind will help me figure it all out. Who knows? Fortunately, I can bury all this drama when needed to come across as Normal Kate: Shy, well-written, anal-retentive, smart, level-headed, meticulous. I just can't bury it too long, or the cracks start to show. Oh well.

And now, off to get lunch.