Potpourri for $200, Alex

According to this test I am a socialist. That's ok, right? And also sort of expected... you know, the whole social worker thing.
Sure, I'm a socialist.
I am not going to comment on last night's debate... I didn't see it. I saw about 3 minutes of the Fox coverage (and then realized that I was watching Fox and turned it to PBS). Then I watched the PBS coverage for about ten minutes and turned off the television. From the NPR coverage this morning it sounds like they both did well.
Yay.

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I am going to comment on the bail-out.
Fuck that. That is what I think. Fuck it.
It's one thing when I am irresponsible with my money. It's another thing entirely when the people who are IN CHARGE OF THE MONEY fuck it up. And nobody is standing around wanting to bail my happy ass out.
Why not take the money and pay 2 months of any mortgage that is less than, say, $2000 a month? I would say thanks, struggle a little less for a couple of months, and the mortgage company would get paid what it's owed and not a bonus for being an ass.
I'm just saying.

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Sally and I are meeting for lunch today (as has become our custom). I enjoy my Saturday routine, and last week when I missed it I felt disappointed... even though I had a great weekend and did lots of fun stuff with Bean and my family (and Sally, as a matter of fact). But lunch with Sally and knitting at Twist have become important to my mental health.

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So I saw my therapist again yesterday, and it went well. He is encouraging and validating. He said it sounds like I have a lot of really supportive friends. I totally agree.
He is not, however, concerned with the time I spend hiding in bed. He thinks that I need to find time to allow myself to break down, and that the people around me need to be patient with that. As long as the staying in bed all day is a choice and not interfering with my responsibilities in a negative way. At the same time, he was happy to hear that last week I chose Twist over bed on Thursday.
So I'm glad I went back.
After the appointment I was exhausted. There is a huge disconnect between the things I know to be true in my head, and the things I feel are true. When talking about Bartleby I can not say "It's not my fault he died" without crying. I know it's not my fault, but I feel like it is.

I went home and slept...

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That Bad, Bad Man cooked for me last night. I just looooooooove having a man cooking in my kitchen. Love it. And comfort food even: chicken fried rice. Yum-o.

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I'm going to forgive the YMCA for giving financial information to the idiot step-mother. One person made one stupid mistake... And I think I'm actually poor enough to get a reduced rate. And I really need to do something about the size of my ass before it starts demanding a salary.