I don’t think it’s wrong, it’s just gone to my head. *

I did not actually see my doctor on Thursday, because she rescheduled for Monday. Today her office called and rescheduled again. Apparently tracking down my various medical records is harder than it should be, and it also cuts into the doc’s vacation time.

So I’m in a holding pattern for now — I don’t have my pain meds and that makes me cranky and useless; I’m not sleeping, but I finally have library access so the nights are better; I’m washing everything in the house that’s washable, throwing out everything worthless. And thinking a lot, of course, because there’s a universal law against moments of peace when it comes to me.

I’m getting pretty sick of my own “everything sucks” mentality. It used to be how I lived, but it’s too foreign now. My marriage is up-and-down lame/awesome and my body is disintegrating and I’m alone 95% of the time, but… the world isn’t ending, and I thought I’d taught myself how to recognize that. I know perfectly well that this is mostly chemical, physiological — some combination of months-old grief, sleeplessness, and boredom twisting my neuroreceptors back into their old patterns — but knowing that doesn’t change it.

Still, I’ve managed to do 35 loads of laundry in the past three days. (That number is not exaggerated. Many — most — of those clothes went to Goodwill or into the bin, but it is still a lot of laundering.) I got the kitchen almost all the way clean. My seedlings are rioting about the place, and it’s almost consistently warm enough to harden them off. I had company the other night and managed not to devolve into a raging bitch or a sobbing wreck (score one for self-control). I have cold beer on a hot day, and my mom bought me plenty of cigarettes to see me through the weekend.

Oh, and I’m quitting smoking. The doctor who washed his hands of me helpfully offered treatments for everything but the non-arthritis, and one of those offers was a prescription for Chantix. I turned it down then, but in the midst of all this self-pitying I thought that maybe quitting smoking would be one thing I could do to feel a little better. I pick up the prescription on Monday, and… well, we’ll see how it goes. I hesitate to call this public accountability (I mean, what are you going to do if I don’t manage it — boycott my blawggy-blawg? bah), but it’s something to announce, anyway. It would be better if I could have anti-anxiety meds already in my tight little palm before I start this experiment (reasons range from panic attacks to sleeplessness to fucking hell what am I going to DO if not smoke), but nothing is ever easy.

This year is almost 1/3 over. If 2009 were a painting, January-April would be one twisted plane of an unrecognizable face. I’m anxious for summer.

*The GooGoo Dolls


One Response to I don’t think it’s wrong, it’s just gone to my head. *

  1. Lissa says:

    My mom used Chantix to quit smoking and it really helped her go from a pack and a half a day to one, maybe two, cigarettes a day. She’s kind of ‘stalling’ at making the final leap to actually quit. It’s kind of annoying, actually. [shrug] Tony and I both quit recently, him for maybe the second or third time in his life, me for the 10th or 11th time in my life. I’m a social smoker. I could go out and smoke a cigarette now and then not think about it again until… well, a mood struck. Something like that.

    I can relate to how you are feeling in some respects. Like hating your mentality of ‘everything sucks’ probably moreso than the others around you hate it. Nothing in my life makes any kind of sense anymore and mostly I just wish things did make sense. That things were on some kind of path — other than the path it’s on which is currently a path to abso-fucking-lutely NOWHERE.

    If I ever get the chance to drive out west to see Sarabeth I’ll have to hit you up. I’m sure you could show me parts of NM that no one else could. ;)

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