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Half an hour to breakfast



Okay, I'm on a schedule. The mood stabilizer is supposed to be taken 12 hours apart. And, no, I am not keeping a diary. I know I should, but I'm not. I'm not that kind of person.


I've written two previous entries this week. Unfortunately, one is somewhere in GAland hiding under for barren patch of memory because I clicked when I shouldn't and the other because, well, I just didn't feel like posting it, some entries are simply not meant to live.


I'm back in therapy and my counselor is forcing me to expand my horizons. Since I'm probably not going back to truck driving because I'm unsafe on the road, I'll be at home more often. I drove truck to be away from home. My goal this month is to find a photography club. Next month she'll probably want me to join the Y to get more exercise. I mentioned something about going to Europe for a couple weeks this spring. Of course, the wife can't go because: 1) she doesn't like strange food; 2) she can't travel light; 3) she won't like the beds or the bathrooms; 4) she will complain because all those people around her don't speak English; 5) she will complain because they don't have the same television programs and she can't understand them because they're in the wrong language; 6) she'll worry about Bonita being left at home; 7) she'll complain because all the museams are boring; and 8) she'll make me so miserable, we'll come home early and I won't get to see Leksand, Sweden, where my grandfather was born.


I suggested substituting my son and the counselor said that's a good idea because I'll have to sell it to the wife, which comes under expanding my horizons. I called him and he said he'd like to go to Paris. I asked him why and he said, "That's where all the action is." The good thing is he wants to go to Leksand, too.


Now, all I have to do is talk to the wife. If she starts crying because I love my son more than I love her, I swear I'm going to get into the pickup and drive away.




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