Daily Archives: May 27, 2015

A Few Days in Review



Surprised myself by actually getting up and wanting to go to church. I have a new blue dress that makes me look decent and I had showered the night before. Progress!

I got in the pew at church and they were already singing. They start the singing about ten minutes before it starts just to get everyone warmed up. So I joined in but I started crying right away. Just tears rolling down my face. I think this is the Abilify messing with my emotions. I mean, I’ve felt teary before at church but not this much for no reason.

After church, we went to a graduation party for my youngest nephew. My sister-in-law did her usual great job on the food. I tried to hug her and tell her how nice it looked, but she is sort of distant. But I got good hugs from all the kids and my brother-in-law. You’ll remember I am trying to be more of an aunt to these people.

We saw people at this party I haven’t seen in years. I was a little self-conscious about my weight but whatever. I have lost three pounds this months so far, so I am hitting my goal. For all you dieters out there, I have a question. How do you portion control at parties and restaurants? If there’s food sitting there, I figure I may as well eat it. I make decent choices at home, but going out is not good.

I noticed something else weird. I would join in or feel compelled to say something when two other people were talking. Sort of interrupting. And saying random things. Things that just sort of came out. Nothing bad, it just felt compulsive. I THINK…am not sure, this could be a sign of hypomania.

I came home, took a nap, and tried to tie a necktie on my oldest son who had to go to a wedding. My husband was gone and I hadn’t done it in a while. Quite hysterical. I am writing this, plan on listening to my audiobook and going to sleep.


Memorial Day and I sort of gave up. I thought about grilling something, but couldn’t get moving. Had also set aside time to declutter the den. Didn’t get to that. Just stayed on the couch and watched the world go by.

Am starting to think I want more out of life than this.


Actually got up and met my friend for breakfast. This is that friend some of you will remember from a post I did. She did not mention her ex husband ONE time! I was stunned. I had lemon poppy seed pancakes which are not on Jenny Craig.

Next, I met my husband at the phone store to get a new phone. I had accidentally slung mine across the room and cracked the screen.

My husband worked for the phone company for thirty years in corporate sales, so he knows his phones. Even so, I felt like crying by the time we got out of there, one and a half hours later. I wound up with a giant looking iPhone which helps me see things a lot better. I can even see and read my blog on it. My son sat down and transferred everything over to the new phone. I did lose a little music but that was okay.

My next stop was with my personal trainer. This was a disaster. She had me warm up on the bicycle a few minutes and then starting doing these leg lifts on this weight machine. Suddenly I got this serious headache. Like I couldn’t see out of one eye. The pain was amazing. I half thought I was having a stroke or something.

I called my husband to pick me up, came home and took a migraine med. I felt better in about an hour. But it was strange. I am SO sick of exercise being a big issue in my life. Some of you know I am trying to lose a pound per week. My trainer said a few rounds on the treadmill would knock that right off. I really have no excuse.

Once again, I was feeling like I wanted more out of life.

I ditched my bipolar group. I am getting too depressed from it. Most everyone in there is sicker than I am right now. I want to shout at them to “get over it”! (I didn’t actually say this…just felt like it.) What a terrible thing to say…I think it is this damned Abilify. It’s like I have no filter.

Danny, my youngest with the “three D’s” started his summer biology class. He’s typing his notes each night and I am quizzing him in the morning. He really needs a “C” in there. I don’t want his dad to give up on his college career.


I needed a shower but didn’t take one. I went to my women’s support group anyway. I figured I needed support and maybe they could support me with dirty hair.

I’ve got some stuff coming up: 2 days with a friend out of town; 5 days with my best friend IN town; 3 days with my daughter away; and then a week at a friend’s condo up in the mountains.

Something is really changing inside me. I want to figure out what I want from life. As bpnurse said…”I can’t just sit here and wait to die.” I could have written her post. It is exactly what I am feeling.

Until next time,



Originally posted on Poesy plus Polemics:
“Still Life on a Shelf” Painting by Arline Wagner From fineartamerica.com put the pieces of life on a prominent shelf objets d’art clad in sentiment bouquets of dreams in a celadon vase statuettes cast in poses of memories bright lacquered boxes of velvet relationships failings engraved on a silver-chased…

My Liebster Award


I was so surprised to open up my Facebook page the other day and see that my blog had been given a Liebster Award. I would like to thank Elena Peters (from Fabulously 50 and Living with Batman) for the nomination. From what I understand the Liebster award is given from blogger to blogger—a way of recognizing our peers. Some say the award is to be given to new bloggers, but I was told this is not carved in stone, so I have chosen a number of seasoned bloggers as well because they keep me inspired. Of course, it is always up to them whether or not to accept. There are rules that come along with this award. They are listed below. I hope you like reading the answers to the questions posed to me. This is a fun process, enjoy.

My Liebster Award:

Here are the rules:
1. Acknowledge and thank the blog who nominated you.
2. Look for or create an award image that you like, and post it on your blog.
3. Answer the 11 questions asked by the person/blog who nominated you.
4. Nominate 11 blogs.
5. Let the bloggers know that you nominated them.
6. Give them 11 questions to answer.

Here are the questions I had to answer:
1. Without doing an internet search, what does “Ich liebe dich” mean? Best guess.
A—Something German: freedom every day?? Wild guess.
2. If you could meet one blogger, who would it be?
A—Allie Burke—I think she’s cool.
3. What non-electronic device could you not live without?
A—Pen and paper.
4. What did you want to be when you grew up at age 10?
A—A dancer.
5. What is your secret indulgence?
A—Chocolate—but it’s not so secret.
6. What famous person has been in your dreams?
A—Jon Bon Jovi, Tom Cruise and Justin Hartley—I dream a lot.
7. Which super hero would you like to be?
A—None—I don’t like super heroes.
8. What age would you like to be frozen at forever?
A—38—fun-loving and pre-bipolar diagnosis.
9. What model car best describes you?
A—I love my BMW.
10. Which period of time would you have liked to live in?
A—I think the 50s.
11. If you had to give up one sense, which one would it be?
A—Smell—by process of elimination.

I give a Liebster Award to the following:
1. Bipolar Me: bipolarjan.wordpress.com
2. Susan Cook Zarit: BravelyBipolar.wordpress.com
3. Bipolar and Beyond: bipolarandbeyond.com
4. Bipolar Whispers: BipolarWhispers.wordpress.com
5. Thrill Writing: Thrillwriting.blogspot.ca
6. Rachel In The OC: rachelintheoc.com
7. Julie Fast: bipolarhappens.com/bhblog
8. Allie Burke: haphazardcoffee.com
9. Nicole Lyons: thelithiumchronicles.org
10. Sarah Fader: oldschoolnewschoolmom.com
11. Charlotte Walker: purplepersuasion.wordpress.com

My questions for each of you are:
1. What was the first thing you wrote?
2. Why did you decide to write a blog?
3. What country would you like to visit that you haven’t already?
4. If you could have a super-power, what would it be?
5. What is your favourite book (I know that may be hard)?
6. What are you usually wearing when you write your blog?
7. Who is your favourite singer/band?
8. What is the best song to fast-dance to?
9. What is the name of the person with whom you shared your first kiss?
10. Where were you when you kissed?
11. What is your favourite season and why?

Have fun and pass it on.

Wondering When to Tell

My middle daughter has been asked out on her first date since she became old enough to date.  The young man has agreed to our first condition, which is that the first date be dinner at our house so we can size him up.  We’re looking at something very simple and all-American–burgers, fries, green beans, and dessert.  I have to get the public areas of the house cleaned up and neatened for company.  And although he’d never admit it, both my husband and I are scared to death.  :)  We don’t want to scare the boy (well, my husband might, just a little) and upset our daughter.  And I am trying to figure out how to be myself without being as bipolar as usual.

I don’t know what she’s told him about my condition.  Knowing her, she hasn’t mentioned it.  She doesn’t like talking about it, to me or anyone else.  I know I probably shouldn’t mention it either.  That’s her relationship and what she tells him is her business.  We don’t know how serious they are–they met at church about a month or so ago and have been talking for a while.  She told us that he asked her to date him and asked  us if that was okay.  So here we are.  We didn’t go through this with our oldest since she didn’t date in high school.  So we will see how this works.  Pray for all of us as we sort through this particular bit of uncharted territory. :)

Mental Illness: Who I am Versus Who I Want To Be


Mental illness is a lot like looking into a mirror and seeing what you want to be. You look away for a moment, then reality is looking back at you. That kitten may view himself as a fierce lion, king of the jungle, but…Best he can hope for is to grow into a good sized domestic cat. WE ARE WHAT WE ARE.

Do I cede that mental illness has to define and limit us? Absolutely not.

When I am manic, I see that lion in the mirror and forget I am but a kitten. I feel fierce and powerful and unstoppable. Intrepid.

When depressed…I see this hollowed out husk with no light left behind the eyes and lines of a tortured existence etched into what used to be a lively pretty face.

What we are and what we want to be are two very different things. And to liken the mentally ill to someone without mental illness who likely *can* become whatever they put their mind to…is insulting. A sick mind cannot become a well mind by willpower and effort. We can manage, we can improve, we can just maintain and keep going…But the part of us that is responsible for every function is ill and to deny this is a hindrance is asinine.


As a manic teenager, I had so many dreams and goals and flights of fancy. My dad told me to get a job schlupping coffee in an office, people like us didn’t become anything else. I told him I was going to be a star. Never mind I can’t sing or dance or well, do anything with any consistency. I’m a good writer, but even that hinges on my clarity at the time. Mental illness does not bring consistent clarity so even that which I am good at and enjoy is affected. At that time, I rebelled even against my own self doubt and especially against my gloom and doom father. I told myself I was going to be the one in a million, I’d beat the odds, I would become more than my station in life declared I could be. I certainly wanted it desperately enough.

Then would come the depressive bouts. Months and months in a dark place feeling no hope, no joy, being beaten down by my own mind. I’d come to terms with my limitations and decide maybe schlupping coffee’s not so bad. Except, I tried that in the form of waiting tables, and my longest period of stability was about seven months. FYI, you make great tips when manic. Depressives who force smiles and look ready to bolt…Not so much. Still…I tried.

Come manic phase…Lather, rinse, repeat.

I thought I was just a flake until the mental health diagnosis. Of course, it was the wrong one, I was given the wrong meds, and never did get better for more than a couple of months at a time. Least then I knew I wasn’t stupid or immature.  Notions of grandeur are a hallmark of mania as much as hopelessness is a hallmark of depression.

If you had asked me twenty years ago what I’d be doing now…I’d have said I’d be a published author, maybe still broke, but I’d have at least pursued the one dream I know I stand a chance at fulfilling. I could not have seen all that would come my way to hinder that dream. (One of the biggest hurdles being stuck in a small town and of course, literary agents charging seventy five bucks an hour just to read a chapter or two.) Then my husband at the time had two brain surgeries in a six month space. My needs took second place. I was still struggling with my own issues. There was never a point where I said, “I can’t do this, I won’t even try.” No. There was just the reality of life reminding me I had other priorities, other responsibilities. I was okay with that. I could do my writing thing later on.

It was all so clear in my manic mind. I could see myself, wearing the nicer clothes I can’t afford, well groomed and made up, my house clean, my car new, my life a balance of personal and professional. Until the mania wore off and the depression swooped in. Even then, I never admitted defeat. It was just another bump in the road, I could postpone until my mind was in a better place.

Once I had that bad reaction to Nardil and spent a week in the hospital with the doctors unsure if I’d ever come to…That was when everything changed, for the worse. Almost like my will to live was sucked out of me during that week I was out of it. I started getting numbers mixed up, saying the wrong words, forgetting where something was when I’d been there a dozen times. I was different.

The mental illness, however, was not. The cycles came and went. Except the manic episodes were briefer and the depressions were longer, deeper, darker. I was no longer my smart sunny self even in the manic episodes. There was something different about me, about how I was able to feel. It was always like joy was covered in layers of gauze and it wasn’t simply the depression. I wasn’t the same person anymore, which gave credence to the shrink’s flippant remark about, “There may have been brain damage.”

I kept writing. Unfortunately, it was all tainted by my depressed mind state or if I was manic, it was run on sentences even I couldn’t tolerate. I kept TRYING. I even wrote poems that got published. No pay, though. Truthfully, I am not a poetry person. Writing it makes me feel like a hypocrite. Novels have always been my goal. And I have at least ten full manuscripts I’ve written over the years, including a couple a New York literary agent was interested in. IF I could pay for her time, which I couldn’t.

In 2006 I found the most amazing doctor. She diagnosed me bipolar and gave me mood stabilizers. I thought, finally, I can have my life back, or start living one for a change.

Mood stabilizers helped immensely. Except the depressions remained the same. Doctors don’t like to give anti depressants to bipolar patients so my doctor saddled me with enough sleeping pills to put an elephant down on a nightly basis. Still, for the ten hours I was awake, I was minimally functional and not suicidal. It was something.

The bottom line is…Life requires consistency. It’s the one thing I can’t seem to manage. I try. I envision where I want to be in life, how I can make changes, what I can do to ward off the depressions…Nothing works. I had a plan four years ago. I really thought that time it was going to stick. I was determined, the meds seemed to be working…And all it took was one seasonal affect depression to put me back into the gutter, back on the medi go round. Side effects, failures, brief periods of functionality. My best intentions count for nothing.

I never wanted to be a 42 year old woman who struggles just to bathe and put on clothes or clean the house. I never wanted to be on disability, I always worked from the time I was sixteen, even if it was only during the manic episodes for a couple of months. I tried. I had dreams. In my current months long depression and its anhedonia, I currently can’t focus on anything but daily survival. You want me to make a five year plan of goals to aim for? That’s not gonna happen. I can barely make a plan for five minutes from now.

Oddly back in February when my prozac was increased, I went absolutely manic for three weeks and thought I was cured and could kick the world’s ass.

This disorder is cruel. It is a hindrance. It is the bane of my existence. Yet it’s the only hand of cards I was dealt.

But make no mistake…Who I wanted to be has nothing to do with what I am now. I can make some changes, adjust my attitude. I cannot, however, cure the bipolar. It is what it is.

I never wanted to be this husk of a human being. Yet here I am and much as I loathe it, I keep doing battle.  Maybe focusing less on what I once wanted to be,or what others think I should or could be…I need to  focus on the fact that no matter how many times life and mental illness have beaten me down…

I have the fortitude to get back up. I keep trying. That takes strength the non mentally ill will never ever possess or grasp.

we know more about bipolar than they do

So I was on my own couch this morning, waking up and waiting for my lift to the therapist’s couch (fail, it’s an armchair) and I started this post with absolutely no end goal. It meandered along, doing its own thing. I’m up and down like a rentboy’s boxers today, so if it’s all fractured and nonsensical, fear not, I feel that feel too.


Here’s yer song for today, it has zero relevance, it’s just a song (particularly this version of it) that I love to bits. Take it away Dre.

I’ve seen a few blogs lately, where people have said they’ve been diagnosed with ‘bipolar and depression’. I thought that depression, when present, was simply included in the bipolar fun-bundle? That said, there seem to be a lot of diagnostic inconsistencies, and I assume it’s because there are many descriptors that are very close. I read a post about the difference between mixed episodes and rapid cycling, for example, which seemed like comparing apples and pears to me. Cycling describes frequency, mixed describes moods – yes it covers their frequency too, but a mixed episode is just one aspect of bipolar, the frequency of shifts within them doesn’t necessarily match those of hypomania or mania, or depression. I know that bipolar is a right royal bastard to diagnose, but it would help if they’d stop shifting the goalposts. Some of the changes appear to be DSM idiocy, rather than research based facts.

‘Bipolar is manageable,’ is in all the handouts, but when you start reading, rather few of us feel that our bipolar is managed. Celebrities tend to claim they’re cool or cured (except the king and Queen of bipolar, Stephen and Carrie), but aren’t they saying that to protect their images and careers? We might say it in job interviews too, but then we go undercover and weep online. Well, I do anyway. ‘Don’t worry,’ I was told, ‘the difficulties with reading, writing and memory will come right when the meds do’. Yet I prowl blogs and very soon I think the professionals are softsoaping me and whitewashing bipolar, in order to keep my chin up and my wrists from being sliced.

Personally, I’d rather people used the same ‘recovery’ criteria as they do for grief. It’s there, it’ll always be there; you might be able to manage it, but there is absolutely no guarantee. Side effects of medication often feel way worse than mood shifts. The suicide stats are alarmingly high and so the disorder should be treated far more seriously. There is no recovery; people using ‘recovery’ and ‘chronic illness’ in the same breath, are using words inaccurately. I’d rather be told that there are potentially lethal consequences, than feel inadequate because my experience doesn’t fit in with the whole positive thinking, gung ho spin. Realist doesn’t equal pessimist.

‘I’ll make sure you’ll live till you’re 90,’ said one medical professional, and I thought, ‘dear god, no, why would anyone wish that on me?’ And I’m not even a suicide risk. Another 40 plus years of this crap, along with the physical and mental lasting damage that goes with it? Fuck the fuck right off. I’ve had a few days of hypomania recently, and before it hurtled into mania, it was the best time I’d had in a year or so. I’m 44 and much of my life has been that way and it’s hard. ‘We can do hard things,’ quoth Alan Packer, ‘it’s the impossible that takes a little longer.’ more bs, frankly. We can do hard things and thank fuck for that fact, but if we describe things we can do with more difficulty as impossible, then we’re treating ourselves like imbeciles with no command of our own damn language. I guess he raided this for it anyway.

Yet again I shall quote Queen Carrie…

“One of the things that baffles me (and there are quite a few) is how there can be so much lingering stigma with regards to mental illness, specifically bipolar disorder. In my opinion, living with manic depression takes a tremendous amount of balls. Not unlike a tour of Afghanistan (though the bombs and bullets, in this case, come from the inside). At times, being bipolar can be an all-consuming challenge, requiring a lot of stamina and even more courage, so if you’re living with this illness and functioning at all, it’s something to be proud of, not ashamed of.
They should issue medals along with the steady stream of medication.”
― Carrie Fisher, Wishful Drinking

Well said (and do not get pissy about the soldier comparison unless you’re a bipolar soldier – which isn’t ideal, since they don’t like bipolars in this man’s army), I wish everyone would read and believe that quote.

Please do not assume that because you have brains, that you understand our brains. It’s like the difference between watching a wildlife documentary on the Discovery Channel, and standing unarmed, face to face with a lion. I mean it. I know that we have moods and that you do too, but their cause and experience are so far from yours. We usually don’t understand your moods either, by the way. Know thyself, babies, and let us teach you about bipolar, rather than the other way around. Don’t be so arrogant until you get your PhD in psychiatry, mkay? (That rant was caused by a blog post that none of you wrote, that irked me.)

I think the notion of beating bipolar causes more feelings of inadequacy than it inspires focus and determination, because it’s a lie. To plagiarise a cliché, if you can’t beat it, join it. Learn to live with the monster, using every single tool at your disposal. Aim for a good remission, which although it could very well be finite, is both positive and possible. I’d rather not feel as though I’m failing to make the grade, thanks very much; it’s that kind of thing that causes despair and we know the places despair tends to go. Some things are improving for me, and some are on the decline. Let’s be straightforward in dealing with that please.

People are all entitled to their perceptions and misconceptions, a willingness to learn would be great, but professionals who take money for treatment and medication, or wind chimes and snake oil, are bloody well not entitled to any of that. They need to listen to us, their patients and consumers, their clients and all too often, their victims. We can’t do their jobs, but we can see as hell help – and I reckon we’d all be incredibly motivated to do so. I don’t want to feel like an unstable failure, I want to feel like a human being with stuff to be treated for and worked on.

Let’s go and yell at people about it, who’s with me? And by ‘yell’, I mean ‘be heard’. Simple as that.

Some other time though, the latest hypo phase just ended and now I’m



Puking Rainbows- The Attitude Debate

I did a semi positive post yesterday and realized…I may have fewer followers now because they could have died from shock. Okay, I am being sarcastic (it’s my super power) but I’ve been inspired to explain why I am “so negative”. Now,if you are an optimist, kudos to you, that is your right, your identity, your coping mechanism. I salute. At the same time, my cautious optimism and “expect the worst, get surprised by the best” attitude is who I am and how I cope. I’m not encouraging anyone else to assume this attitude. I mean, my purpose in life is to be a bad example and all, but that was just because my parents told me to set a goal in life…

Sarcasm really IS my super power and has been since age 12.

The thing is..I am bipolar two. Which means I spend 3/4 of my life in a depressed “let me shrivel up and die” state of mind. That itself is negative and that is also called depression. If I were puking rainbows then I wouldn’t be depressed so much, would I? Throw in a dysfunction overly critical family, being bullied for years, and a neverending struggle with my mental issues…Was there really much chance I was going to be an optimist anyway?

Once upon a time, even in the heyday of being bullied as a preteen and into my teen years, no matter how bad it go, at least during manic episodes, I could dismiss it all and spew sunshine and puke rainbows. I felt anything was possible and all the bad shit was irrelevant. Those of course, were the manic episodes. Notions of grandeur, feeling ten feet tall and bulletproof. I was doomed to a rude awakening. It happens again and again, your attitude takes a beating. (I’m 42 now which means I’ve spent a quarter of that in a manic state thinking the sky is the limit, only to crash land into reality.) You do become negative. And maybe it’s not a bad thing. Optimists kind of irk me, truthfully. Sometimes a pile of shit is just a pile of stinky icky shit, even if you paint it gold and spray it with Glade so it reeks of vomited pine trees. Realistic is not negative.

We, as a society, are taught otherwise. I see it everyday. One church in town had a sign that said, “Attitude is the crayon that colors the world.” And ya know, from a church, that’s rich. “If we deny that priests molest little boys, our good attitude will make it go away.” (Not all are like that, but denial is a hallmark of many religions, just is.) R has been telling me for four years, “There will be better days.” Yeah, got an ETA on that? (Oddly enough, when he had five weeks straight of little work, nothing going right, death of a friend- then it was okay for him to be depressed an stressed and be a bit negative.) It is okay to have an attitude where you don’t get easily defeated and deterred. (I love the character Sue from The Middle…Much as I’d like to stab her with her own rays of sunshine, she is just so upbeat and tenacious, I wish I had those qualities.)

Voicing when things are bad, and expressing that, is not the same as a negative attitude. I started this blog as an outlet for all my battles, good and bad. As bipolar two, the lows are just the primary state which is negative. And while I don’t even pretend to fake it’s all good, by acknowledging the bad I am purging so it doesn’t poison me. Also, I’ve gotten so many comments from people who are thankful that I put it the way I see it, political correctness and social views be damned. Because many people feel exactly as I do but don’t feel able to voice it for whatever reason. I say what they can’t and it resonates and I think, rather than turning them into pessimists, it validates their right to feel negative things because, well, sometimes thing just are.

This one I got from Diane.

I think it’s appropriate, though I don’t remember if I posted it before. Who knows. It can be reposted cos it’s just that succinct.


So attitude is less a luxury bipolar patients have and more a lottery of, who will be influencing my mind frame today.

I don’t feel obligated to spew sunshine and puke rainbows. I’ve told it like I see it since I was 12, even when they told me I was Debbie Downer. (I won that young author’s contest, negative story or not, and I changed NOTHING.)  This is me.

Ya know what else is me? The days when I truly do feel like I could puke up a rainbow. They’re just few and far between and truth be told, when I am in a good mind frame like that, I’m not sitting here blogging. I am out living life before I’m back in the mood gutter. It’s not that all I feel is negative. It’s just that I write about that part to avoid overdosing on it. Then when the good stuff comes…I live it. I see nothing unhealthy about it.

Whether you puke rainbows or ooze gloom…You should just be true to yourself.

In closing, I am going to allow my Lord And Master, Foamy The Squirrel, to sum it up in his foul mouthed angrily eloquent manner.

Little Venom, More Tranquility

Twas not a stellar day but also…Twas not living hell. Miracle of miracles, I’m not gonna bitch and moan for ten pages.

Aside from the humidity and the oompa loopas squeezing my ovaries at random moments to cause me doubling over pain…I have managed to survive fairly unscathed today. I’m not doing cartwheels. My scumbag brain is telling me it’s time to take to my crypt…I did not find the fountain of cure, nor am I gonna puke up any rainbows. At the same time…I am also not gonna spew any venom.


I hazarded a trip to three different places in the dish today. Aldi, Family Dollar, and the library. Nothing too traumatic except I had no quarter to get a cart at Aldi and was standing in line ten minutes with my arms full. Oh, and again at Family Dollar while some oblivious geriatric had to dig out exact coins from her bag while I juggled apple juice, canned veggies, a bottle of cola and a partridge in a pear tree. For one person who’d barely waited ten seconds and had a cart, they opened a second register while still I stood there. Not life altering but it never ceases to be annoying how rude people can be. Still, it didn’t send me into a swearing tailspin.

I was just going to return my library books. Then I said, no, get one, at least. Instead, I walk out with four even though my focus on reading these days leaves much to be desired. What can I say, I am a book floozy. I suppose of all the hobbies one could overindulge in, reading’s a pretty good one.

Had to brave the big school to fetch my kid. Not pleasant but I took a book, parked a block away, and sat on a bench. Since getting home, she has been minimally fussy (Thank you, Neopets!) and I do make her alternate between playing outside and the computer. (JINX, no sooner than I commend her behaving well, I tell her it’s jamma time and she starts throwing a fit and mouthing off.)

All in all…Not an awful day. I still can’t muster up any enthusiasm to listen to music (I might infect it with my debbie downer thing) nor can I do much around the house except in bits and pieces. Still…I managed to run some errands, the kid’s been good-ish, I even cooked myself a decent supper.

I think some of it has to do with FOUR days of not being nagged within an inch of my life by hours of dish time and oh, yeah, R. Ya know, the guy who only calls me when he needs something or is bored and all the other people are busy. Yeah, well, I think to some extent, he’s a bit toxic. Necessary evil sometimes. Less evil than my family, at least. But four days to regroup, three of them pretty much sans kid…It makes sense I’d pipe down a bit. The hormonal thing seems to be dying down. I think the worst of the Latuda aftermath is fading out.

One thing I’ve noticed since starting the Trileptal is I am grinding my teeth unconsciously. To the point my gums hurt.  I catch myself, correct it, and bam, right back to it without even realizing it. This is a side effect from this med, though it seems I developed it rather fast according to the normal onset the literature talks about. Oh, well. Compared to Latuda, this is puppies and sunshine and orgasmic chocolate.

For now…The madness in Morgueland is at a tolerable volume. I wish it’d stay that way. I also wish pegacorns were real but hey…Dreams aren’t a bad thing.

spiders(Thanks to Diane for that one! Too funny.)