I am not sure where the weekend went. Perhaps it never really happened.

I pulled the bed out of my small couch on Friday evening, plopped down on it, and did not move much until this morning.

I still feel rather wretched...and...perhaps...a bit sorry for myself.

After hours and hours of thinking, I am bothered by how littled I trusted B and G with my worries about staying at that church and all that ensued afterwards. I am bothered by how weak and weary I feel. I am bothered by the thought that I have no real plan for when I can no longer live alone (something I feel creaping up on me despite my relatively few decades of life thus far). I am bothered by how much I long to have someone else to lean on to help face what is happening to me. I am bothered by the fact that I feel as if I should no longer try to visit anyone.