Dr. Gilmour was happy to hear from me this afternoon. He said it was nice to get a positive phone call for once. I'm not that miserable, am I? He said having a way into town should make a huge difference in my outlook. Well, duh. I'm so glad that OHIP pays for him to talk to me because I'm pretty sure I'd be asking for my money back if I had to pay him. Why couldn't he just tell me I'm lonely and unhappy at the beginning? Might have saved a lot of trouble.
Although I am starting to get the knack of this journaling thing. I think I'm going to keep it up. Kind of reminds me of grade school, though. "Now kids, write in your journals about what you did over the weekend."
But don't draw a picture. Oh no, that'll get you hauled into the principal's office in kindergarten when you draw the neighbours chopping off their chickens' heads and hanging the bodies on the clothesline. I wonder if my mother remembers that?
Ha ha, suddenly the north shore of Lake Superior doesn't seem so backwoods to me, now that I remember that little gem from growing up on the Okanagan River. Yeppers, that's right, I'm one o them River Folk. I'm trying my best to type that in a hillbilly accent, but it doesn't translate well on a keyboard.
Come on, hurry up and be tomorrow, already. I want to go and get my new truck.
