I guess I owe my handful of readers an explanation.

I've been going downhill for a while now. Yeah, I know, "Like, I can't tell!!" Week before last with the anxiety, last week the Hubby found out about being overdrawn. And all of a sudden life didn't seem like living. I grabbed my secret stash of sleeping pills that didn't work right on the Hubby, a cup of water and went out to my car. The Hubby called me on the cell phone telling me he had called the sheriff. It was like something broke through, I still had the pills in a death grip, but I decided I didn't want to die, but I didn't want to live, either.

I didn't wait for the sheriff. I drove to my family doctor (the really cute Jesse Ray XXXXXXXX). On the way there, the Hubby called me, frantic, asking me where I am. I told him I was going to the doctor. I called for an appointment from the parking lot. "I have an appointment at 11:15," the receptionist said, at 11:20. I told her that was ok since I was already in the parking lot. So, I pretty much got right in, pills still in the death grip.

"You know I can't let you leave." he said. From there, I went, by ambulance, to Deaconess ER. They said I was to be admitted to St. Anthony, but had to have a ride. So, I called the Hubby, who hadn't heard from me in a long time and was about sick.

I was inpatient in St Anthony for 4 days.

I talk more later, there's a thunderstorm coming.