I haven't been out of my apartment all weekend. I've been studying some, but crying alot. I just don't know what I'm supposed to be doing. I mean what's it all for--why am I even living? The barracuda called, and it was really hard to fake being ok, but I didn't want to talk to her about it all. She must have been able to tell I wasn't doing well, though, because she kept asking me what was wrong, and then tried to trap me in a lie about it, so I'd have to tell her what was wrong. Is that love? It sure doesn't feel like it, but it's the closest thing I have. Now that's hella pathetic! I'm scared about the weekend ending because I just don't know if I can make myself go out and do what I'm supposed to do and concentrate and all. Last week at work I kept having to ask people what flavors they ordered like 2 or 3 times! Shit--I can't keep doing this! I wonder if I could call my therapist. I hate to bother her, but I feel like I'm grinding to a halt. I don't think I can reach her directly, and she probably wouldn't call me back until tomorrow during business hours anyway. By then I might not even want to talk to her, and I'd just be embarrassed. Maybe I should ask her about calling when I see her next. Jeez, I wish I could call her!!!