I’ve been quiet. I get quiet when I’m feeling not so very. The other day I went to the apartment with the best intentions of cleaning up, but instead I lay down on the featherbed and slept for three hours. I’m not a napper. I’ve also been eating a disconcerting number of chicken nuggets. I think it’s because I ran out of Abilify for about two weeks, but it could also be because I haven’t been to talk therapy in over two months. Luckily, both are taken care of now, so I should be back in action. But if I get quiet again, feel free to check in. It’s always appreciated.

So today I went to a consignment shop with a box of porcelain, crystal, and teacups. Wedding presents, the lot, too nice to yard sale but too expensive to keep, things that should have been passed down as heirlooms but now hold no value at all. It’s sad, really, and I felt bad consigning them, but I’m looking at a life where there’s just no place for marriage-FAIL Waterford. Anyway, I take the box in, heave it onto the counter, and the woman takes one look and says, “Wedding presents?”

“Yes,” I reply, laughing.

“You’d be surprised how many people do that,” she nods, with a conspiratorial grin.

We go through the whole box, oohing and aahing over each little treasure, and at the end of it all I’m inking my stats on the release form. Carbon paper. You’ve got to push hard.

“Anguish, is that your married name?”

“Actually,” I reply, “it’s my maiden. I’m getting divorced.” Then I smile. “I never took his name. Lucky, as it turns out!”

Like, what is WRONG with me, seriously? Poor woman. She didn’t think my joke was very funny.