Happy fucking Islander Day in Open Diary transition

So, I'm laying in bed, dying of a gastro bug. Better than how I spent the better part of last night - on the toilet barfing into a giant bowl.

This weekend has been brought to you by suck. A snowstorm, my period, a major anxiety attack and gastroenteritis. It's a holiday today, to boot. Oh yeah, enjoying my Islander Day! grumble

I'm weak. Gastro is my version of Clay's man-cold where I whine and resign. Rhea has gone to her grandparents' place for the night to a) hopefully avoid catching it and b) allow me to be sick, sip flat gingerale/watered-down Gatorade and wallow in self-pity, sans audience.

Regarding the anxiety, I need to get over the fact that I'm living here instead of Newfoundland for the foreseeable future. I know I can visit and call and Skype, and that usually gets me through, but sometimes I can't shake that I have but one life to live and it's not the way I want it to be, at all. I want to be with my family, especially my mom, and it's just not going to happen unless we win the lottery or the unthinkable happens to Clay, and that is not how I want it to happen. I want Clay with me in Newfoundland, and it's too much to ask in the economy we live in with the debt we have.

Sometimes I actually consider giving up all financial responsibility and moving home to go on welfare. And then I realize that too would make me miserable.

Sorry for the lack of writing and when I do it's mounds of self-pity.

To end on a sweet note, Rhea sat on her stepping stool while I died on the toilet and told me she would give me hugs and kisses when I feel better. That's worth more than gold.