I can’t be out of Ativan, can I?

This is so not the week for that

Photo by Siora Photography via Unsplash

My vial of Ativan is missing and this is so not the week for that.

Monday, I awakened to a dead computer. Couldn’t write, couldn’t work, and couldn’t get it fixed as Best Buy’s servers were down.

Monday night my anxiety was bad. “Ativan! Ativan! Where are you?” I cried, ripping my medicine chest apart to no avail.

Tuesday, I purchased a new computer, and inadvertently maxed out the only credit card my husband had with him while he was traveling for work. He couldn’t check out of his hotel, call an Uber, nothing.

Tuesday night my anxiety was worse.

“Ativan! Ativan! Please, show yourself!” I sobbed, ripping my husband’s medicine chest apart. Again to no avail.

Wednesday, I raced back to the store to return and re-purchase the computer on a different credit card, all the while having heart palpitations that maybe they’d say, “Sorry lady, can’t help ya.” Kudos to the Best Buy folks. They were awesome and I should have felt better.

But I still had no computer. Still couldn’t work. Still couldn’t write.

And, on top of that, later that day I made two panic attack inducing discoveries: