Another day, another buck-fifty in the kitty.

Today, was okay. Busted my ass helping to unload my trailer. It's part of the deal. The customer is a major account and the drivers must help unload. This means picking up boxes that fall off of pallets that are stacked to the ceiling, picking up boxes that are stuffed between pallets, and generally helping the forklift operator with the unload. We don't get paid to help, by the way, which is only logical in the greater scheme of things.

And, I got my blood test. My INR was 3.1, which isn't within the 2-3 range, but isn't horribly over. We'll continue as we have been with 7.5 mg of Warfarin on Mondays and Thursday and 5 mg all the other days. Only five more months of this, I hope.

I'm depressed.

There's no other way to describe it. I've been dealing with this shit for four years now and, well it's been bad before, real bad, badder than it is right now, but I'm sinking into unbelievable sadness. This is definitely the cause of those thoughts that are cycling through my head right now; and, yes, they slipped out a couple times today when I saw and passed an opportunity to cease being. As long as I keep passing them, eventually things will get better. It's either that or I'm going to have to call the shrink and get stronger medicine, which might hinder my ability to drive.

I just have to hope for a bounce. That's what I need right now. A bounce back to normality or a little bit higher.

I'll be leaving tomorrow taking a load headed to Rochester, NY. It doesn't sound like fun. Those old Eastern cities have alleys and loading docks not designed for 53 foot trailers. I can only hope the receiver built a new warehouse some where out in the burbs.

I am working on Chapter 16 of The Artists. It's going slow. My sadness exacerbates my inability to put thoughts into words.