A Note From the Management

After an online friend lamented the lack of boob shots that she felt my "18 and Over" warning promised, I thought I'd better explain.

Although this blog and the links provided are appropriate (and necessary) for some younger viewers/readers, I wanted to convey that some of the situations/events narrated within deal graphically with "R"-rated matter- sex, drugs, death, serious mental illness, and- occasionally- even POLITICS. (By their very nature most of my posts touch on something-or-other political, but it's the "Dear Obama"-type crap that merits a warning).

Speaking frankly, as I am often too apt to do, age is not a defining characteristic of my target readership. There are people in their 60's who may never have the stomach for my subject matter. Some of us never quite grow comfortable enough to chat casually about sex, there is certainly a large contingent of those lacking any sense of humor about mental illness, and there are more unfortunate souls walking the earth who cannot forgive themselves for their past transgressions, nor can they forgive their transgressors.

Those whose view of the sanctuary is terminally obstructed by visions of sin will have to seek truth elsewhere.

For the remainder, I invite you to debate/ suggest/ just check in and PAY ATTN TO ME as we all work towards becoming our own best selves. And stumble. And push on.

7:14 am -

Whoops. Close call there. Not addicted to dope. Apparently, if you mix up the particular opiates enough, you can stay on the nods for weeks at a time and quit with nothing other than the pain of death wrapping its way up from your ankles.

Actually I think I'm addicted to benzos. Hopefully the same rules as above apply: some diazepam here, lorazepam, alprazolam there, clonazopam. No unexpected tonic-clonic episodes on the 11th floor of the uni library while doing research for my designated professors this term.

Did I mention I missed my new psychiatric intake by 24 hours and now have to wait until March 3rd to be seen? Let's see: I've been on Zoloft, Effexor, and now Lexapro in the past 6 weeks or so. I just increased my escitalopram (lexapro?) dosage last visit. So what the fuck do I do for the next 5 weeks?

My preferred pharmacy bought a cheap new generic triazolam and filled my prescription with it. Pretty cool. I can now take the sleeping meds I once thanked the gods for at triple dosage in the middle of the day and feel nothing. After I finish this, I intend to inject .75 mg of this alleged triazolam along with 10 mg of cyclobenzaprine. The cyclo will put me to sleep. The other drug takes up space in the syringe,which is important to a person trying to intigrate a large number of personal possessions and prescription drugs into a very small apartment.

Holy fuck. My computer says it's the sort of time when non-academic employed people get up. I was going to ramble about how my grandfather is still dead, how I am 27 and have emphysema (the 5 "please"s on the answerphone message left by the internist prior to the rest of the sentence "quit smoking now no matter what you have to do" made it clear). Pulmonary obstruction. Put it into a website and see what you find.

So I have to smoke the last of these cigarettes, even though I just lied and told my girlfriend I wasn't still up to smoke them, and slap on a patch. I have an appointment in 7 hours to see whether I am full of shit or last week's MRI reveals some actual reason for the pain in my hips, ass, and back I can remember from 18 years ago.

Hoping you see some sunshine over there on the other side of the world and the other side of this meteorological belt. We had some on Saturday. I saw it through the window.

2:46 pm

Forgot to add that I am off effexor since the therapeutic dosage was threatening to give me seizures. I'm on Lexapro now. I'll get back to you about my will to live in six weeks.

2:26 pm - SOS (Same old Shit)

I am having pad thai and coffee for breakfast, which I think is a totally appropriate behavior for a chronic bulimic/anorexic. Ar 2:30 in the afternoon. I quit dope for 3 days. My doc prescribed me an Opiate/APAP for the effexor withdrwal headaches and I asked in the pharmacy to be sure they had it before turning in the script. Well, they didn't, and they substituted the same number of pills at half the opiate strength. So I headed out, after much pleading and whining, home, in order to rectify the situation on my own. While I was buying dope opiates in Ohio, my grandfather went into cardiac arrest and died in Minnesota. I meant to make those two little pills last, taking half at a time so it would be just like what I was actually originally prescribed. But then My Girlfriend got a voice message on her phone from my father telling me to call him while he was visiting family. And my uncle told me. I'll be the first to admit I'm not that close to my extended family.I don't have much against them, I have more important grudges to bear. But I haven't even seen my grandparents, or any other family in that state, in 1.5 years. I cried anyway. I sobbed. Just like I did when my stepfather who emotionally abused all of us and sexually abused me died in a car crash. I cried because my mother had lost the love of her life. So I suppose last night I cried for my aunts and uncles and my grandmother. I cried and sobbed and shook and My Girlfriend held me and and when I stopped shaking I sent abstinence from dope to hell, crushed up those little pills, put them into the spoon, and. . . if you don't know how this story ends, then go watch Trainspotting or Sid and Nancy .