I’m cleaning my carpet. I bought a carpet cleaning kit from Home Depot that is supposed to clean carpet via sprinkly stuff and a vacuum. But it only works if you scrub the sprinkly stuff into the floor with soapy water, a scrub brush, and a lot of manpower. I was dumb to believe that there was really any other way. So much for the concept of “dry cleaning”.
My anxiety has come back again. The last time I had it I thought that there was something wrong with my leg because it always felt numb and I kept my toes scrunched all day long. I am not having that problem this time, now I just feel like I am going to die. Yesterday when I went to Home Depot I thought I was going to die there. I got dizzy and hot, and I thought my heart was exploding inside of me. I just needed to sit down, but there was nowhere to sit. It passed and I was able to buy the stuff I needed but then it came back at work. I screwed up two pizzas because I couldn’t concentrate. It was just like everything was fuzzy and not real. When I was at Home Depot, I thought I forgot something for the carpet so I went the whole way back to the carpet section and I realized it was actually in my hand the whole time. Just a few minutes ago I opened the refrigerator and I found a clean plate with a big pile of ketchup on it. But I remember doing it! I just don’t know when or why I did it. I know that I must have done it in my sleep, and even funnier … I don’t even have any food here that I would eat with ketchup. I remember doing it because I remember that when I did it I thought “well I will just put this in the refrigerator because I don’t want to waste this big pile of ketchup”. I obviously wasn’t thinking at all because I really don’t think I was going to funnel it back into the ketchup bottle at some later point in time. It is kind of funny I guess. I am feeling better today though. I think it is this new apartment and the fact that I have some underlying fear that I am going to die here all by myself and nobody is going to find me. I am not going to freak out and go to the doctor and demand that he/she tell me that something is wrong with me. Last time I made the doctor check my leg so she listened to my leg pulse and checked my reflexes. Then she told me I was crazy and sent me over to counseling. I know I am crazy. I don’t need anyone else to tell me. So I’m just going to go scrub my carpet some more and try not to think about anything.
Bye!