A Wing and a Prayer

We're makin' it, but just barely.

All the bills are paid,(except one, that being half of the rent, but I'm putting that check in the mail today), the refrigerator has groceries, the Internet and TV (still) work, an oscillating fan is running, but there's nothing left over.

I have been waiting on a claim from my eye insurance company for my glasses. I'd been checking online and it had been status "paid" since a week ago Friday. And yesterday the two checks arrived. Not a gazillion dollars, not by a long shot. But enough for me to get a pedicure for my job testing thing on Monday, and out of the house to see a movie with leftover to save for the next bill.

But I did something stupid. Well, naive, if nothing else. I found a local ATM that would deposit into my credit union account back in the state we just moved out of. And it wouldn't give me ANY cash back. None. Zip. Zero. Nada. There I was at 9am, showered, dressed, even wearing makeup and jewelry, ready to actually "do" something, and the brakes slammed on and I had nothing to do but go back home. Pitiful.

I could've cashed the checks at Wal-Mart, $3- per check. But the amount was too low to really warrant spending $6- to have them cashed. And then on the way home, too late, I remembered that one of the Casinos nearby would cash them for free. *sigh* And I can't touch the money until Thursday--five days away. Great.

I don't know what I was thinking, honestly. Maybe my brain has finally been pickled by the heat.

So I texted my hubby where he's working out-of-state to see if he was awake, he said he wasn't, I asked him to call me later. I came home, stayed up as late as I could, then took an Ambien and got on the pull-out bed in the liv room. (It's way too hot to sleep upstairs--our bedroom gets direct afternoon sunlight). This was at noon.

At 10:30pm, loud banging on the front door woke me up. Then I saw flashlights coming through the sliding door on the patio into the dining room. And of course, last night was the first night in who-knows-how-long I decided to sleep in the nude. So I grabbed a blanket and walkrd over to the sliding door (left slightly open for the cats with sliding door locks on), and talk to a fireman, who is backed up by other fireman, who want to know if I'm all right. (Am I depressed? I lied and said "no." Am I diabetic? "Yes, yes I am.") My husband had been trying to reach me since noon, and between the spotty cell signal and Ambien, I didn't hear the phone ring. I reassured the firemen and they took off. (I am wondering what the neighbors thought about that? LOL.)

My husband was (rightly) concerned that I may have fallen into a diabetic coma. But even more accurately and therefore scary, I'm sure he was more concerned about suicide. And that truth is a hard one to accept: I have thought about it a lot. I've even told him that sometimes I think about it. I'm not sure why I told him. Attention? Intervention? A cry for help? I don't know. But the idea that today my husband thought I might be dead, at my own hand, became tangibly REAL. Not a mythical ennui "oh, I wish I were dead," dramatic Hollywood way, but in a very final, rotting carcass kind of way. And even though I don't want to be dead--I really don't--I just feel so done with life. I'm done. The physical pain, the emotional pain, the constant struggling financially. I am tired of it. And although I do think about suicide frequently, I'm not sure that I want my family and friends to pay the price for my suffering. No, I am sure. I don't want them to suffer the consequences of my actions. But man. I'm a miserable human being.