It was that time of the week. My once weekly call for cigarettes. I hate, hate, hate to do it. It makes me want to quit. I called mom and she was asleep in the bed.
"Would you mind me driving you down to Fat's to get me some cigarettes?" I said over the phone.
Mom mumbled something incoherent and hung up the phone. I felt terrible.
When I arrived at my parent's house, mom was still in the bed. She seemed drugged. I had to help her up and help her get dressed. I felt like such a schlep. Into the car she went and I walked around to buckle her up. Off to Fat Albert's we go.
Mom managed to wake up some by the time we got there. She was lucid enough to buy me and her a drink which is always a treat for me, the caffeine.
"Thank you," I told her driving home. "You made my day."
"I don't mind doing this," she said.
She was a asleep again by the time I pulled back in her driveway.
Tomorrow, I go see my psychiatrist. I am already nervous about it. Dad is going with me. I am not sure if we should just leave well enough alone and not adjust my medications. I anticipate begging for more Klonopin.