NICE. If someone had told me I wouldn't be able to buy Rice Krispies for six fucking months I would have stocked up, the way I did on Goldfish crackers, toilet paper, cold hard cash and now Doritos, because my province is literally in hell lately.
On the upside? They have rapid tests at the pharmacy now but I didn't get any because I forgot as I listened and fidgeted through the pharmacist's list of cautions and side effects for my spanking brand new pills and then for good measure I was handed a seven-page printout of information. I think they have to, though this has nothing to do with signing legal contracts and just about everything to do with me falling asleep in a bowl of Honeycombs this afternoon. All of this above-board now, as it seems to keep the wolves in check.
All the boomers back home have covid. The rest of us only go outside when we have to. I woke up Ben and dragged him to the grocery store at seven this morning and he dragged me to the doctor at ten. It was a cold call, just to see what transpires and she passed all the tests and after a lengthy discussion it's clear Bridget's anxiety is absolutely off the charts at this point and something has to be done.
Also more therapy (yeah, no) and no alcohol and mindfulness off of youtube.
Or something.
But let's start with drugs. Half dose to begin and then next week I'll be asleep before I can even pour a bowl of cereal and still make it to the big table. I hate side effects. She said to give it five weeks and then come back and we'll shoot for the moon but hell, I think I'm already there.