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I Aten't Dead.

The depression treatment continues. Much like God's justice, it grinds slow, but exceedingly fine. Today has been a little rough. Kidlet's been sick with what we now know to have been a UTI, but it's meant a beggar of a fever. So I'm currently having my usual after-the-fact case of nerves. Mom, worried herself, particularly where fevers are concerned is Not Being Helpful.

"Did you know your brother had convulsions from a high fever when he was 18 months old?" 

"Yes, Mom, I did. Also, did I remember to thank you for the fever-phobia you installed with the other neuroses and personality quirks? Aside from that, I thought I'd let the kid run around in traffic and sleep in the park tonight."

Combine that with heavy duty surgery for a friend tomorrow, a brush with death-by-breadknife (I kid you not. ALWAYS WASH YOUR HANDS WHEN YOU GET A CUT, FOLKS.) with another old friend, and having the financial tide brushing my chin, and you have one very fragile-feeling Lyn. Oh, and I keep running into dead and/or traumatized kids as a literary trope.

I wonder if there's a badger in these parts who wouldn't mind sharing a little headspace...

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