Fish tacos, a dead bird, and crying

I fear that therapy was a bad decision.  I woke up this morning in tears.  My recurring nightmare revisited me last night.  I haven’t had the dream in several weeks but this time it came back with ominous music and if I remember correctly, a water buffalo jumped out and head-butted me, then ate Steve.  The dream comes to me when I’m stressed or overly emotional, which I’ve been this week.  So, I boo-hooed all morning.  Then, I sat at my computer, shaking like I had parkinson’s, and googled things.  Nothing in particular.. just googled. 

This afternoon, I decided to take Steve to get a fish sandwich.  We road tripped to Long John Silver’s and ordered a crab cake, a fish sandwich, and a fish taco.  The fish sandwich was gross.  I’m not sure I’ve ever said that about a fish sandwich before.  Normally, I view fish sandwiches like they are orgasms on bread made of rainbows, but this one was like poop on cardboard.  The fish taco, however, was awesome.  Fish taco sounds like an extremely disgusting name for a very dirty vagina, but the actual food was good. 

I found a dead bird in my back yard.  It looked as bad as I feel.  This mood scares me.  People ask me if I’m okay and I smile and nod.  My smile is fake and I pretend to be happy just to prevent further questioning.  Part of me wanted to lay down next to that bird and never get up.  But, it was cold so I went back inside, carrying Bert under my arm like a sack of potatoes.  Instead of cuddling with the dead bird, I plopped down on the floor of my office and put my head on Steve’s feet.  I slept there for about an hour.  I woke up with my neck hurting, drool running down my face, and I was surrounded by dogs.  That was the highlight of my day.  Sad, I know. 

~Nancy Drew