Sunday blues

Trish is gone now. What a nightmare a couple days ago -- she commited suicide with the aid of a Kavorkian-like doctor & I encouraged her, then felt bad when I couldn't hear her voice anymore & realized it was forever. Sometimes I wonder about our marriage: I know it's forever; truly, madly, deeply; then I get on the Internet & seek out slim she-wannas. Then I feel guilty, but apart from Kimothy Leery haven't been exasperating VADIS -- I'm still upset over the rejection of Mindstorm, but perhaps should hold out on submitting it until I have a couple pro sales. Then I'll really have the groupies, but teenage D.A.R.E. brats want my Dick & not my Philip K. Fantasy.

Trish is at work. Say Bra had her come in an extra day because of all the time she missed. Yesterday was a pretty typical Saturday -- we stocked up on raviolis at Albertson's -- but went to church in the evening, followed by El Taco Loco. We called Trish's mom after that. Today she got up early & it screwed up her med schedule; I'll have to help her. I did get on the phone to Ruby's Inn & they're expensive, but give you free brecchie. That's one Cathedral I don't really miss because of the Karen Relationship or the skinny dog.