I have no idea why I am compelled to prattle on, but...

I spoke with the therapist Saturday. I guess I really do like him and trust him because I actually told him something that I didn't tell the Internet first. Frankly, I wanted to ignore it, but you know how therapists are. They ask questions. May I just preface this by saying it's been nightmare city over here? Yeah. Only this time it hit below the belt. I hate it when my nightmares get so desperate for the attention of any non-drunk brain cells that they stoop to using my children to represent my child-self in my nightmares. Pass me that beer, eh? Anyway, it was the littlest in my dream. She was afraid to sleep because of someone she called 'the invisible man'. And because of what he would do to her when she was sleeping. Actually, I can't recount it again. I'm sure you get the point, eh? Nightmares suck. Though I haven't felt anything about this one, I know intellectually that if I did have feelings about it, they would be horrible. How's that for detached?

In other news, I did the weekly shopping in the middle of the night at the 24 hour WalMart. (Yes, it was pre-beer. There are some things I would just never do.) I like it when there aren't people all around. Unfortunately, they are moving everything around in there, so I had to talk to people to ask where things are because I would have been quite a long time left to my own devices. At least the employees are very nice in there. Talking to people is less icky that way. It was still icky, but the ick factor was all mine. It's my voice, you see. To be precise - it's my accent. I hate it when it pops up. And it's almost always in public when I am struggling to talk to people when I really don't want to. What the fuck is that about? I think it's about being a fake. Or not. After all, I did speak naturally with that accent until I moved from the South US to the Midwest (where that sort of thing was frowned upon). After that - there was magic. My accent was suddenly gone. Just like that - the moment I knew it made me 'unprofessional', I dumped it. *Poof* All gone. And I never missed a beat. Unless you count the panic attacks. So was I being fake when I was talking in the store or was I being myself? I don't know. I'm not good at figuring out that kind of crap. "Will the real Lynn please stand up?" Uh... I don't know if that's such a good idea because I don't understand the question. I DO understand what I'm afraid of, though (and it's obviously not impaired liver function). I'm afraid the little girl or the teenage girl might take over. That wouldn't be good. I know because it has happened before and it lasted too long. Long enough for mail to stack up in dusty piles around the house. Long enough to tank my credit score. I could go on, but I won't. It sucked, okay? It caused trouble. I don't like trouble. Those two don't do the laundry and the husband ruins clothes when it's left to him. They don't make good lunches for my children and they SUCK at bookkeeping. I can't have that kind of shit going on, you know? I forgot what the point is here, so I'm going to bed.