Better sit down, I'm writing a gratitude list.

I used to think about Sylvia Plath all the time because she is a woman who struggled with life, I love her work and she's featured prominently in my novel. She hasn't been in my thoughts as much since the novel's finished and my children are bigger but when I started feeling squirrely during these dreary, rain-filled days, she moved back into my head. A frigid winter (accompanied by bad colds, divorce, two young kids with the flu, a philandering husband and mental illness) did her in. I often wonder if she'd still be alive if the sun had just come out for a day or two, or if she hadn't been so worried about money. The Dissomaster hadn't been invented yet and, as much as I hate it and the lawyers who punch the numbers into it, that piece of software eliminates the financial portion of divorce misery. Imagine how horrible separating would be if the man could just walk away from you and your children and only be required to help you as he saw fit? As good a man as my ex is, I'm certain my support payments would be a lot less if they were based on what he felt was necessary. Heck, even I would accept far less. I don't feel entitled to his financial help. I'm grateful for it, but I feel guilty that I haven't earned it and really guilty when I spend it on crap like mascara. The pot really gets stirred when I buy something for Big Guns.

Anyway, today I got to shell out $350 for a root canal. I had my first one about sixteen years ago and remember falling in love with my doctor just because he'd made my face stop hurting after a week of misery. I was ready to follow him home and do his laundry. This time around, I was kind of hoping for a young, handsome doc I could fantasize about while having a nerve scraped out of my head but, alas, Dr. Dang was uber pleasant but just didn't do it for me. I spent the hour staring at an odd cluster of tiny holes in his ceiling.

My gratitude list for the day:
Sun
Novacaine
My ex's health insurance
The Great Dissomaster