There is a 50/50 chance that my therapist will suggest that I check myself in to the hospital today. What still a possibility, the chance that she'll actually force me to go into the hospital is much less than that. She has shown herself to be very reluctant to commit forced psychiatry, and I really like that. I don't know what I feel about a hospital visit. Many of those around me think I need one, but I don't trust that it'll make me feel better. I think they'll try to give me thorazine and I won't feel better, I'll just feel immobile. And more immobile is definitely not what I need to feel right now.

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If I don't end up in the asylum today, I'm going to go to work making the branch I found under the trees along the shore of spy pond into my new cane. I need to finish it before my current cane gives out. I hate that I destroyed what purpleglitter so thoughtfully gave me. I feel very very awful about it, I loved that cane - it has even whiskey flask and a now-dead compass! It was stylish and went with my wardrobe perfectly. I can't believe I destroyed it. But, in the words of Plautus, "factum est illud, fieri infectum non potest" – done is done, it cannot be made undone. My new cane will be more sturdy and crafted by myself out of a gift from the winterclad tree færies.