You guys, lying to my parents has utterly backfired. As you recall, in order to cover up the fact that I was spending my evenings napping on the couch between crochet stitches, I told them that I was staying off electronics at night in order to sleep better and thus could not answer their every email or respond to Facebook immediately. And thus I didn’t have to tell them about the medication until I was ready.
But they’re my parents! They love to fret and worry. I had a long, weird, awkward conversation with my dad last night about things I could do to improve my sleep and whether I should see a specialist!
Clearly, the longer this goes on, the stupider it’s going to be. And yet, god, I still really don’t want to talk to them about this.
The Butcher says I should tell them I went to a doctor and, surprise, I have anxiety. Just obfuscate about when I went. The Butcher is obviously much better at this shit than I am.
In unrelated news, now the tree people are mad at me. I’m not saying 2016 has been a weird year, but I would never have predicted that it would end with tree-huggers, hot chicken people, and the feminists pissed at me.