it's a great life, if you don't weaken (matociquala) wrote,
it's a great life, if you don't weaken

you gotta lift up every stone

Sigh. My brain stopped accepting the background music. Also, hello wall of BITCHY. Fair warning: right this second, I'm a nihilist, and at the mercy of wildly fluctuating brain chemistry. Don't tread on me.


words since 9:00 AM Saturday: 554 1008 1761 2002
sleep since 9:00 AM Saturday: 0
hours in deathmarch so far: 13.5
showers: 1
pages written: 10
pots coffee: 1 (with some vanilla ground up in it)
large mugs salabat:
pots tisane:
pots tea:
1 (white chai)
It Came From The Juicer: Beet greens, garlic, and radishes. Apple lemonade.  Beet apple mango nectar. (Add something with acid, next time)
alcohol: La Fin du Monde and honey pepper vodka
drugs: 800 mg. naproxen, 1 OTC Zantac
dancing: in quiet desperation
tyop: "daubed with ask."
handfuls of nutritional supplements: 1 (fish oil, evening primrose, calcium, b complex, glucosamine chondroitin)
food: corned beef hash and eggs; layer cake; Barilla "Plus" angelhair with chicken, defatted chicken drippings, green peas, butter, and parmesan; gouda, cheddar, and grapes; more cake
BPAL: Jacob's Ladder, of course.
mug: still the filing cat
state of the catbox: I'm just not looking.
laundry situation: overwhelming

God, I'm crabby all of a sudden. Thanks, brain. No hyperfocus, but I can have a mood crash instead? Fuck you too. I want hack mode, not chemical nihilism. Crab crab. Tote that *(&)^)*&^*(& bale. A minor bipolar episode is no excuse not to go to work.

(I have been known to joke that the difference between a new diagnosis of BPD and having been living with it since it was manic depression is that after thirty fucking years, I've stopped taking any of my own brain chemistry seriously. It's like living with a bitchy cat, at this point. Ideations of self-harm? Boring. Meow, meow, meow. Shut up. I gave you the damned cat food and turned up the heat. Bored now.

Alienation is a coping model. Between cognitive strategies and anthropological training, I'm surprised I still have a belly button.)

Less than a chapter left to go, and the maladaptive brain chemicals have come to help.  Come on, brain, I took you running on Thursday and climbing Friday. You have no call for a freakout today. Get with the program, here. Go to work. You bore me.

Tags: jacob's ladder, with your draft or on it

  • Post a new comment


    Anonymous comments are disabled in this journal

    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded