Depression or True Illness? @ Friday, Nov. 14, 2003

So I'm not sure if I'm really sick or just depressed. After ten hours of sleep I woke up Wednesday morning feeling beyond sluggish. Managed to make it through the day - somehow staying awake even though I was finished with all of my work by ten-thirty - but woke up Thursday determined to stay home and recover.

It didn't work. I went to work this morning with a throat that was a bit scratchier than the day before and must have looked tired and still sick because my boss told me to go home as soon as I finished my reports. She rocks because she had a BK breakfast waiting for me this morning and a package of Reese's Christmas trees that were just for me and not to share with co-workers (energy, the note said), and she told me not to take the time off on my time card. I left at eleven, had my nails done, picked up a Grecian Turkey wrap with extra feta and banished myself to the couch.

I'm achy and hot but also mentally overloaded. Last night I dreamt that Big was showing me pictures of his wife. In my dream she wasn't pretty. Is he ever going to get out of my mind?

And I'm frustrated with Tim. I think I've finally met a man that I can't be friends with after "dating." He won't allow it. That fucking pisses me off. He stuck his head around the corner this morning to see how I was and to tell me that he left his phone in his girlfriend's car. What do I care? Then I noticed his ruddy skin and bloodshot eyes. A hard night of drinking? I almost asked and then remembered. The Howie Day concert.

I'm sure that when he said we should get a group of people together and go that he never meant to incude me. I can't blame him entirely. I mean, if I had a boyfriend - or even a boy friend who would call me - I'd want to do things with him, too. But he knows I like Howie, knows that he introduced me to him, knows that I wanted to go. Sure I was sick on the day of the concert but he never even called. Now I wish I'd never called him to let him know about the concert or researched tickets - including special pre-show tickets - for him when he failed at it himself.

So when I heard another manager ask how the show was, I actually felt tears in my eyes. How juvenile is that? But I hate to be excluded.

And so does Tim. We are eerily alike. Amber says so all the time.

At least I have a great weekend to look forward to as long as I can kick whatver is trying to take over my body. I'm driving to Mom and Dad's tomorrow and we're going to have lunch with my brother (he's going to ask my parents for something that will be a whole other entry in itself) and then I'm going to Debbie and Leo's for drinks, dinner and then downtown for a night at one of my favorite bars. I have a new shirt, fresh nails and a cute haircut complete with a new product that makes it turn out just how I like it.

Now I just need to make sure it's not depression that's making me sick. Tonight I'll forget about Big and Tim and that New Boy who hasn't called (unless he fucks it up by calling tonight in which case I'll relish telling him I alredy have plans and am staying in tonight in order to prepare).