Small, good things

My iPod Shuffle came. It's so small!!

I can't believe it holds 250 songs... but I downloaded two whole cd's and it barely registered on the "fullness" scale. Rockin' cool, right?



Here it is with my new tiny purse and my Burt's Bees chap stick for scale...



Can you believe that I am functional with a tiny purse?? If only it could hold as much as my iPod. That would be really cool. Someone should really invent the tiny purse that holds everything in the whole world - a sort of fashionable version of the Mary Poppins carpet bag.



My new purse and my iPod (and, as far as that goes, my Burt's Bees chap stick) are very good things. My husband lately? Not so great. He is trying to keep himself together and I am trying to keep from spending any more money. Even retail therapy has it's limits. (Kerri has vowed to stage an intervention if I get any more deliveries at the station).

The husband is spiraling. Not working at the station, plus job he hates more than anything else in the world, plus his dad's decline and death equals serious depression and anxiety. He is moody and weepy and he can't seem to leave the house for more than an hour at a time. Oh, and he is also pathologically afraid of doctors. In a way that I can not even begin to try to explain. He needs something for depression and something else for his anxiety attacks... so my goal tomorrow is to try to get Dr. N to see him in her office (and not in an exam room) and prescribe serious medication without weighing him or taking his blood pressure.
No, he won't see a therapist. Not even a grief counselor.

He talked to his mother tonight (twice). The first time she told him I probably married him for his money and the second time she told him he had better get his act together because I was a "headstrong woman" who would leave him if he didn't.
First of all, what money? Seriously. When I met him he was living in his parent's basement and working 25 hours a week at a university job that paid just over minimum wage. When we got married I still made almost twice what he did and right now he's barely working. What freaking money?!?
Second, she does not know me well enough to make suppositions about why I did anything in the past or what I might be inclined to do in the future.
Third, why kick the man when he's already as far down as he can get? Why take someone who is already emotionally fragile and prone to anxiety attacks and give him something else to be really afraid of?

He is asleep now, and I have eaten everything chocolate in the house.

So here's a not to all of the small, good things that help me through the day:
my new iPod
Sammie purring and mrrrrping
Bean's funny stories
my DVR
making the husband laugh
chocolate ice cream
caffeine
Xanax (that one might belong on the top of the list)
comfy pants
sleep
knitting

Here's to a better tomorrow...