Oh Dear...Houston We Have a Problem...

"Psychiatrist visit in the morning," my father told me during the medication ritual tonight.

"I know you don't want to go, but it must be done," Johnny Otis then told me.

The furry little Magster was laying perfectly on the floor and looked thoroughly comfortable.

"Is she sleeping?" my father asked and then I laughed.

"She's got one eye open for good measure. She's not going to miss a beat."

I happily gulped my myriad of pills down this evening. Luckily, I only have to see Dr. Edwards every six months now that I am "stable", Whatever stable is these days.

Dad told me to deter and coach me that if I talk about last week's depression, then I will have to come back in two weeks and would also cause a change in my medications. Damned if I do and damned if I don't.

"I'll call you at ten in the morning to make sure you are up and we will get us both some steak biscuits afterward," my father furthered.

I could just float in a sea of Hardee's steak biscuits. Don't forget the mustard as well!