It wasn’t just the filthy room.

Nor was it the incessant calls for nothing but trying to fight with me.

It wasn’t even the damned freshly dead mouse in the trap I found after working off and on all day. No, it wasn’t there earlier, I checked…

I am cranky, tired, pissed off as hell, not a happy person at all at the moment.

It was probably being told I needed to see a psychiatrist, because I said I doubted I’d be missed much or for long if I dropped off the face of the earth.

Telling me that? Well, to me those are fighting words.

I worked for a practice and they are crazier than their patients.

My sister told several of them exactly what they wanted to hear and they let her out on a weekend pass so she could kill herself.

I should trust such a person? I should trust a total stranger? Not on your life or mine.

The only person I trusted with my innermost thoughts, and even she didn’t know all of them, died.

Hell, I don’t even trust The Curmudgeon that much and we’ve been married for 45 years.