Monday, July 31, 2006
My husband got in very late from work. I know that he is cat sitting for a friend and it's very probable that he spent time with the cats. After all there are newborn kittens to be admired. He didn't feel like cooking when he got in and as I'd had a visitor for most of the afternoon, done a stack of laundry, and other various housework tasks I didn't feel like cooking either. There is also the problem that due to stress/depression or whatever I have been completely off my food (I lost 14 lb in about 10 days). Anyway, my husband decides that he wants to go to the Thai restaurant close to where we live, but I'm prevaricating about it, at which point my husband realised that the thought of leaving the building is making me panicky. So he drags me out to the restaurant and as we are sitting at the table he's reaching over to hold my hand and I'm staring down at the plate and fighting the urge to bolt out of the place. It's the quickest restaurant meal I've ever had and the worst experience, though I have to stress that there was absolutely nothing wrong with the restaurant, it's service or the food. The ordeal was purely the one going on inside my head - a fight between the rational notion that there is nothing that is going to harm me and the instinctive feeling that I needed to be somewhere safer.