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slow
Monday, Sept. 24, 2007, 6:12 p.m.

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All good things must come to an end, but my life will go on and on and on.

Bill thinks I should be stronger. I almost had a nervous breakdown trying to be strong, but Bill thinks I should have been stronger. That I should have been more of a "buffer" for him.

My insurance company thinks that after 800 visits, I should be all better. And that I should have different medicines, too.

They'd like to get involved to help me, which in English, translates into "save themselves a bunch of money".

Well, I gotta tell ya, I feel like crap. Isn't that how I started this diary years ago? Yet Andrew isn't seeking second and third opinions and complaining about how slow I am.

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