For the second time in two weeks my illness has affected my work. The last time I let this happen was in fourth year of university when I slept through a final exam. Luckily I had a friend who helped me get out of that one – not only that, he helped me get all of my exams postponed until two months later so I could be in a better frame of mind to study. Talk about life-savers. I wouldn’t have graduated without help like that.

Anyway, yesterday I left work at lunchtime after sitting at my desk for an hour trying to hold back the feeling that I was about to puke in the garbage can. I have my own office here (funny, isn’t it? I’m in the office less than two weeks every few months and I have my own office while half the shmucks in the rest of the office have to work in cubicles every day) so I was able to close the door and hide behind my computer screen as I tried to overcome the waves of nausea. The only problem was the huge window that takes up the entire wall in front of me, looking out into the rest of the office, so it’s not like I could hide forever. I jumped into a cab and once I got home, of course, I felt better. I laid out on the couch with my laptop and finished working that way. If I could have it my way, I’d work that way forever. Never having to leave the apartment, not worrying about what to wear or what to say to coworkers who I, frankly, don’t care about.

At least my worries and paranoia about coming back to work after my oversleeping fiasco were unfounded. Not only has no one said anything, but I think my supervisor didn’t tell anyone. We’ll see what happens when she returns from vacation. As of right now, I don’t have any more work scheduled here after this week. I could use the time off, as I have those ridiculous exams to study for and of course I didn’t study at all this past weekend — but of course I need the money. Even though I made a point of not going out this weekend, all I did was sleep. Friday I managed to not only get up early and be showered and out of the house by 11 am, but I went out for lunch with some friends, stayed up the rest of the day without napping, and ended up awake until about 4 am. When I tried to sleep, I couldn’t – as per usual – so it was around 10 am before I actually slept. Got out of bed around 4 only to lie around and do nothing all day. My brain wasn’t working well enough to pick up a book and study. Sunday was even worse. I can’t remember what time I fell asleep, but I know I stayed in bed (and when I say “stayed in bed” I don’t mean, lying around, staring at the ceiling, not sleeping – I mean, I was dead asleep or asleep and waking up every half-hour) until 7 pm. And the only reason I actually got up was because I knew I had to work the next day and I’d probably screw myself over if I didn’t at least eat something.

Funnily enough, I not only didn’t sleep through my alarm on Monday – I actually made it into work early! Today as well. Last night’s sleep was great. Sunday’s was choppy, to say the least – up every hour or so – but at least I felt rested. I think I was so worried about oversleeping again that I unconsciously kept waking myself up every hour just to  make sure it didn’t happen again. I’m not sure if the difference in sleeping patterns is because of the change in dose of the Effexor (from 150 mg to 75) or if I’m getting a cold, but I’m loving all this sleep! Of course, it might also have to do with coming down from a higher than normal hypomania that I’ve been enjoying without consequence since Christmas, but I’m feeling so-so now, so I don’t want to dwell on the fact that this might be a bad thing.

Now I’m sitting in the office with nothing to do, a steaming cup of Tim Horton’s tea and a bagel in front of me. The back of my throat feels sore, but I refuse to let myself get sick. Not only do I need to get on top of the studying (first exam is scheduled for Feb. 9) but my birthday is on Feb. 10.

I don’t know why I bother with birthdays. To me, they’re like new years eve – lots of anticipation followed by an anticlimactic evening. But this past new years was really great, so maybe my birthday will have the same outcome. Anyway, I’m turning 29, and I’m excited about starting my last year of my 20s. It feels like I accomplished something. Ten years ago I wouldn’t have thought I’d make it to my next birthday, let alone 29. When I turned 25 I wrote out a list of things to do before I’m 30 (I do it every five years) and I haven’t crossed a single thing off yet, so that’ll make for some interesting stories this year. I’ll have to find my way back to Paris, for one. And lure someone into kissing me beneath the Eiffel tower…. hmm….

(Edit: I just sat here for half an hour trying to come up with a title for this post. Why is it that it’s so easy sometimes to be witty or sarcastic or clever, or even just creative, but other times my mind is such a complete blank that I can’t come up with a few words to summarize the way I’m feeling?)

(Edit 2: I couldn’t come up with anything, so I decided to just write what I kept doing while trying to come up with something.)

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