I went to the doctor today to get put onto an anti-depressant. Lexapro is now my new best friend. I have been feeling an overwhelming anxiety about work and cleaning and general stuff, which has gone into crying and being able to accomplish nothing for many hours of the day. I don't want my kids to see me like that, nor do I want it to get any worse, so onto the happy pills I go. I hope to see improvement within a couple weeks. In the meantime, I have cleaned the office so that I have an organized workspace, and that is nice to see. I have a bookcase full of work, and am forgoing tv until it is done. I just need to put in an appearance at my mom's birthday dinner tonight, and avoid bringing up that I am on medication. She thrives off being the depression expert, and the last thing I need is for her to think I need her help, her stories, her co-dependancy on someone who seems to need a buddy. I love her, no matter what, but she tends to bring the worst out in me with her neediness and desperation to bind herself to me. I empathize with her problems. They suck a syphilitic penis the size of my mailbox. It doesn't make it easier to emphasize with her, though, because she will latch on like a homeless puppy. Only she won't lick toes or make funny noises trying to drink out of the toilet. Usually.