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Location: Home.
Listening: The West Wing.

So, simply put, I went back to the doctor today.

Peter went with me. He's a wonderfully patient person. He didn't get any sleep last night and he never complained once when I took him to Manhatten Beach to sit in a waiting room for an hour or so. I'm not used to people being patient with me and I appreciate it immensely.

We talked later. I have a lot of things to work out and they all spiral back to an easy touchstone--my health. I can't abide the idea of running out of time now that my life is beginning to be important to me. I've lost a lot of time to this and it's time it stopped.

So I might go into therapy. I might not. We'll see how the year ends. I feel an intense need to be doing something--helping someone somehow, to remind myself that I have a reason for being here aside from fretting over not having my doctorate and not having written a bestseller at 25. Perhaps I'll volunteer somewhere. Perhaps I'll focus some time on trying to help myself out of this once and for all.

I'm a girl who's always wanted to make a difference. Not a saint, but my intentions have been good, I think. I've spent a lot of time trying to give to people, many of whom asked me for more until I almost didn't know what else to give. Perhaps I haven't paid enough attention to myself (despite the self-absorbed ramblings here) over the past six years. We'll see.