Ugh.

Does anyone else have to do a frantic house cleaning when their mothers are going to visit? Of course they do. Everyone does. And it's impossible to clean to mom's specifications, isn't it? Unfortunately, we live in a house my mother owns, and therefore, inspections are just kinda part of the deal. We've been scrambling around, trying to make the house acceptable. It's still pretty bad, but what can be expected with all the critters? And the Groundhog has the flu. Yay.

He's hoping I can convince her to stay outside when she picks me up. I'm betting she's going to need to go to the bathroom when she gets here (we're about an hour from her house), and it's inevitable that she's going to come inside. I told him that she's likely to be so pissed about the holes the puppy chewed in the wall that she won't even notice the dirt. We can only hope.

Didn't get any knitting done today. I had to spend a few hours with my in-laws, and I'm wiped out emotionally. They just suck the life out of me. I'm off to do more cleaning, and take an emergency tranquilizer to recover from the in-laws. Ugh.

Blogging, huh?

Never thought I would end up doing this. I've never been much for writing in a journal or anything like that. But I figured, what the hell? I'll do this as long as it's entertaining.

A bit of background: I live in farm country in North Florida, aka Bum Fuck Egypt. Our house is situated smack in the middle of eighty acres of hay field, which are owned by my uncle. We have three big dogs, currently eleven puppies (anybody want a puppy?) four cats and three fish. I've been married to the Groundhog for six years as of tomorrow (Happy Anniversary to us!) and we have no children.

I work at a prison as a Sergeant. I'm currently out on "stress leave" which is a nice way of saying that I threatened to kill myself and take people with me. Only people who needed killing, but still. Not a good feeling knowing that I was required to carry the keys to the mini arsenal when I was at work. It's one thing to feel like killing people, it's entirely another to have that urge and access to four shotguns, four .38 caliber revolvers and two nine millimeters, and a whole lot of ammo.

So my doctor decided to change my anti-depressant meds. Which I needed to do months ago, but I put it off, because I knew I would end up on extended sick leave from work during the transition. But what is accrued sick leave for, if not to keep you from killing people? I should probably state here that I doubt I would have actually killed anyone, or myself, but I did have a very strong urge to do so, and it scared the hell out of me.

I've been on the new meds for three weeks now, and I'm starting to feel better. Good enough that the Groundhog and I feel like it's okay for me to stay home alone when he goes to work, which I was unable to do for the first three weeks I was out. I'm seeing a shrink, and a counselor, and it looks like I'm going to recover from this mess afterall. I wondered for a while there.

I'll get to some knitting progress eventually, I promise. In the mean time, would anybody like a puppy???