The past few days have been a bit of a whirlwind of visiting with people that I’ve been pushing aside for the past few months. It’s been nice — tiring, but nice.  Since I’ve been so down, especially lately, I thought I wouldn’t be able to handle it. But I’ve found that I can actually be sociable… if I don’t get any sleep. On Sunday, I had my friend’s daughter’s first birthday. I was so worried. There would be so many people to chat with, I’d have to be “on” the whole time. I hadn’t slept the two nights before, and I was fine when it came down to it. I realized later that really I was just deliriously tired. That night I stayed at my parents’ house and got about ten hours of sleep. The next day, I was snapping at everyone who said anything, I sat on the couch in my pajamas all day, I was basically a nightmare. Another night of no sleep and I was fine the next day. It’s so bizarre.

Anyway, I saw Dr. A on Tuesday. He upped my dose of Seroquel from 50 mg to 200 mg. He asked how I’d been feeling, and I said other than the past few days, nothing had changed. So he upped the dose of the thyroid medication and said that he wasn’t giving me a choice anymore — it was in-patient treatment whether I wanted it or not. We haven’t come up with when I would go in, but it will be between now and early January.

Now that my flurry of visiting is over until Christmas, I’m waiting to see if the other shoe drops. I did sleep last night, partly from exhaustion of ripping myself out of a good sleep yesterday morning to catch a train on time and partly from the new dose of Seroquel. I’ve been feeling so-so today. Still having a hard time getting anything done, like laundry, although I managed to send out some invoices and pay some bills yesterday.

So I’m just here, waiting.

Well, my sleeping habits have taken a 180 degree turn. Since Sunday, I haven’t gotten out of bed earlier than 5 pm. I’ve been trying to sleep earlier in the evening, but even with the Seroquel, I can’t fall asleep before 2 am. The last three nights it’s taken me between two and four times the regular dose to fall asleep. I had told Dr. A that I was starting to need more to fall asleep, and he said there was no reason to worry about that, just my body getting too used to the medication and that it was safe for me to take up to 150 mg (I usually take 50). He said he’d give me more per month so I wouldn’t run out like I did last month, but he didn’t. I’m not sure if he just forgot or what, but I’ll be running out in the next week or so at this rate. Luckily I got the last appointment with him next week, so I won’t have to worry about running out again.

Anyway, like I said, I’ve been sleeping all day. I haven’t seen the sun since Saturday (today’s Thursday). Sometimes the only reason I get out of bed at all is to smoke. I haven’t even been turning on the lights in my apartment. I leave the kitchen light on, so I can see enough to move from the couch to the bathroom or to the balcony, but otherwise I’m enjoying being in the dark. I was supposed to see a friend and her baby yesterday, but she’s got a cold, so that was cancelled. I was actually happy about that, to be honest. I didn’t want to have to shower, leave the apartment, and be social. However, I have another friend’s daughter’s first birthday on Sunday, which I can’t possibly miss. It’ll be a reason to shower though, which I’ve been lacking lately. A reason to put on some make up and wear something other than sweats and pajamas. It’s been a while since I’ve had to put on a happy face though, and I’m worried that I’ve forgotten how to do that. It used to come so easily to me, especially with strangers at the grocery store or Shoppers or wherever, but lately I can’t even handle that. I snapped at the girl who helped me at Tim Horton’s the other day. I couldn’t even smile when I said thank you.

I’ve also been very absent minded with my medications lately. I know that’s not helping, but I just don’t care. With my parents on a cruise for the past couple of weeks, I haven’t had my mum checking in on me every day like she usually does. I haven’t had to pretend everything is okay. Or had to admit to her that everything is not okay. I turned off the reminders on my phone for when to take my meds, because they were interrupting my sleep. I know that wasn’t the best thing to do, but I’m enjoying the sleep so much that I don’t care. If I could just sleep non-stop, I’d be fine.

I’m seeing Dr. A on Tuesday, and I’m very seriously considering telling him I need the in-patient treatment. I’m not sure I can wait until January. I’m not sure how much longer I can handle feeling like this. It might be worth missing one Christmas to be able to see another Christmas next year. I might not last that long without the help.

Two posts in one day. Must mean something, but what? Hmmm… I haven’t slept in a day and a half so this feels like a different day than when I wrote this morning? Maybe. Or it could be that I’m lonely and I want to talk but I can’t bring myself to call anyone and actually speak these feelings out loud. I know I’ll cry. And I don’t want to cry. Not now. Not while I’m looking at a pile of Christmas presents that I’ve already wrapped because it’s one of my favourite things in the world to do.

I’m lonely. There, I said it. It’s Saturday night and I just came in from the balcony after having yet another cigarette. I sat in the corner of the huge balcony in an attempt to stay out of the reach of the freezing wind and looked at the two condo buildings across the way. I watched people moving about in their little worlds up there in the sky, eating dinner, getting ready to go out, welcoming guests. I listened to a group of girls laughing on one of the balconies. I watched two sets of spotlights roaming the night sky, calling people to a new club or whatever. And I wondered how, being surrounded by so many people, I could feel so alone, that my apartment could feel like such a deserted island that I’d somehow gotten stuck on.

I sat on the balcony and thought about the fact that I’d soon go back inside to the hockey game that’s about to start, where I’d maybe drink some more tea and contemplate something to eat; this would lead me to discard the idea of ordering food since I don’t even want to see a delivery man in the state I’m in (that is, unbathed and unslept), and thus leave me with the daunting task of making something to eat. I knew — sitting there on the balcony, listening to the girls’ laughter — that I’d find that task way too daunting and I’d end up either not eating or having a bowl of cereal.

So now here I am, back in the warmth of my apartment, with nothing to do but either write something here, get something out of me… or what? Bottle it up until I can’t take it anymore? I don’t know. I don’t know where I go from here. I’ve been slowly shredding the ties to my friends. Just little cuts to the ropes that hold us together, but they’re adding up and some of them seem like they could break at any moment. I’ve been so engulfed with my miserable self for so long now, I haven’t been there for them when they’ve needed me. I don’t know what’s going on with any of them, other than through Facebook. One of my best friends lives a few blocks away and I haven’t visited her once since she had her knee surgery in August. I don’t know how to come back from that. I can’t keep expecting my friends to keep forgiving me. And it’s not just my friends. I haven’t even spoken to my brother or sister-in-law in…. I can’t even remember the last time we talked. August maybe? I talked to my brother for about 30 seconds on his birthday earlier this month, but he was drunk, so it doesn’t really count.

It’s pathetic and it makes me sick to my stomach.

***

This post isn’t meant to make you feel sorry for me, or forgive me for being a bad friend, or tell me I wasn’t being a bad friend. I just really needed to let this all out.

Well, I’ve been avoiding writing here for a few reasons — the main reason being a fear of putting my thoughts into concrete words. Because my thoughts have been far from positive these past few weeks.

Nothing has really changed, except that I’m off work now so I have more time to sleep (or to not sleep, as I will get into momentarily) or to completely cut myself off from the outside world.

Let’s see — after my last freelance gig ended, I hibernated for a few days; sleeping all day, staying up all night, etc. But at the beginning of last week, I ran out of my sleeping pills (Seroquel). I had two nights’ worth in my purse (I keep a few days’ worth of all my meds in my purse in case I get stuck somewhere without my supply — which happened a couple of times, making me realize carrying them with me would make sense). I knew I was spending a night at my parents’ house mid-week, and writing an exam at the end of the week. I also knew from experience that not being able to sleep at my parents’ house sucks ass. The few times I ended up there with no sleeping pills, I had to contend with an uncomfortable bed and not being able to leave for a smoke when it got really frustrating (I don’t smoke at their house). I also knew that I’d need a good night sleep before the exam, so I decided to keep those extra pills for those nights. Luckily, they also happened to fall a few days apart, so I knew I’d only have a couple of nights in a row without sleep, max.

Of course, the max is exactly what I got, and more. I went 24 hours with no sleep, followed by 6 hours of sleep, followed by 36 hours with no sleep — all before taking the first set of extra pills. Then, after a looong sleep at my parents’ house thanks to Seroquel, I had 24 hours with no sleep, followed by the second set of pills, followed by 50 hours without sleep — yes, I said 50. It was by far the worst few days ever. I won’t go into details as it’s not very exciting. I did manage to catch up on a lot of TV shows thanks to On Demand, or as I like to call it, the poor man’s PVR.

After that I finally had my appointment with Dr. A. It was far from a good appointment. He asked me how I’d rate my mood out of 10, one being the worst and 10 being the best — I said 1.5. He immediately had me fill out this little questionnaire that always pops out when I’m super low or suicidal. I told him I’d been having thoughts of suicide multiple times per day, every day. I stressed that I didn’t have a plan, and we talked a bit about the last attempt. Which prompted him to ask me, after we re-established the fact that I’d tried to overdose on codeine, if I’d been stashing my meds for the purpose of overdosing. I’ll admit that it crossed my mind before he said that. A few times. I stress again — I do not have a plan. These are all just thoughts. Thoughts that have crossed my mind every now and then. More than usual.

Anyway, my 1.5 led him to ask me about in-patient treatment again. That was the other thing that had been on my mind the past few weeks. I knew he’d bring it up and that he’d think it was the best thing for me. I just can’t get past having to go in so close to Christmas. It’s not the kind of thing where you get to say, okay, I’m here for one week or two weeks, or however long you want to stay. Once you’re in, you don’t get to leave until “they” decide you’re ready to leave.

I asked him, would that mean that if “they” didn’t think I was ready to leave, I might have to be there over Christmas? He said yes. So I told him no.

There’s no way I’m going to spend the saddest time of the year (for me) alone in a mental hospital. There’s no way! Being at home, with my cat (who can make me smile even when I’m in the worst mood ever), with the ability to see my friends and family at a time of the year when friends and family mean the most to you means more to me than whatever I might get from the hospital. (And I’m not completely convinced I’ll get anything from the hospital.)

So we agreed that we’d adjust my medication and re-evaluate asap in January. I told him if I’m not feeling above a 3.5 by January 2 (completely arbitrary, I’ll admit), I’d go into the hospital for as long as they told me to. Actually, I hesitated, telling him I didn’t want to miss my friend’s wedding at the end of January, but as my other friend told me when I relayed this conversation, I have to keep my priorities in mind.

Which brings us to — you guessed it!! — yet another change in medication. Nothing drastic, for now. Raising the dose of Cipralex (anti-depressant) and adding a thyroid hormone replacer (turns out my bloodwork, which I finally had done, showed my thyroid was getting worse, possibly causing the worsening depression). We’ll meet in another week to see how I’m doing, and if it’s not any better, we’ll raise the dose of the lithium.

Soooo, that’s what’s been going on. Except I’m still not working and my sleep is just as erratic as it was before I got my refill of the sleeping pills. In fact, I haven’t slept since Thursday night (it’s Saturday), even though I took my Seroquel like a good little girl last night. I cancelled a few plans last week (the week before? Time is really running together for me these days) because I was feeling my cold coming back (I was meant to visit some friends with super young babies — no germs allowed!).  I’m 100% in terms of being “sick” sick. At about 30% in terms of mental health. But I’m trying to make plans for the next couple of weeks so I can get through December in one piece. I figure if I don’t overload myself with visiting (considering I haven’t gone further than a block from home in about a month and only with great personal effort and sometimes hours of psyching myself up for it) I might be able to handle it.

Here’s hoping.

In the past two and a half weeks (or so), I’ve reached new lows. That’s why I haven’t been writing here — I haven’t had the energy. I’ve been sleeping 12 or 14 hours a day, getting out of bed only because I have to work. It’s making me worried about what’s going to happen next week when I’m not working. In fact, I don’t have any work scheduled until January at the earliest. That could potentially make this a really bad Christmas. But at the same time, I don’t want to work. The only thing getting me through these three weeks of working nights is knowing that the end is in sight.

Anyway, like I said, I’ve been sleeping a million hours a day. Sometimes I wake up around nine and I lie in bed thinking, I should get up. I could go get some Tim’s tea or McDonald’s breakfast. Or just get some groceries or run errands that I’ve been putting off. Instead, I roll over and go right back to sleep. Until like 3 in the afternoon. It’s ridiculous, to be honest. But I can’t stop myself. I can’t find that push to get me out of bed. Nothing seems important, and the only thing that does — work — is the only thing that gets me up.

When I do manage to pull myself out of bed before 4 (when I start work), I just lie on the couch and watch home improvement shows. Literally all day.  I lie on the couch and can barely find energy to move, until I have to work. Sometimes it’s too much for me to put together a bowl of cereal. Most days it’s too much to get into the shower. I usually stay in my pajamas all day. I log into work and put in the most effort I can manage, which still includes working while lying on the couch, having the TV on the whole time, and taking many smoke breaks. Somehow I still manage to do more work than the others, but that’s another story.

Since going back on nights, it’s been really easy for me to hide away. I’m working when other people are home from work, so I have an excuse not to call anyone. Because I’m sleeping all day, or because most of the time I don’t feel like getting dressed, I don’t go out during the day unless absolutely necessary. I went a week without even opening my front door once. The only reason I go outside is to the balcony to smoke. The only person I’m in regular contact with is my mum, and that’s only because if I miss more than two calls from her, she’ll get in the car, drive down to my apartment, and bang down my door.

I did manage to go out last Friday with a good friend, and that was nice. I got too drunk, which was bad, but it was nice while it was happening to be out with someone I enjoy.  On the way to meet her, I had a mini panic attack while waiting for the subway, and had to let two or three go by before I was able to get on. That was a new one. I figured that since I haven’t been in public in a while, I felt overwhelmed. It hasn’t happened since, but it’s still scary.

Other than Friday night, and a lovely call with another good friend on Monday, it’s possibly been the worst two and a half weeks ever. I still haven’t been to the doctor to get my blood tested to see if the Lithium levels are high enough (which I’m positive they’re not, but worried about the side effects I haven’t yet experienced if the dose goes up). I’m seeing my doctor in two weeks, so I have to go before then to get my blood levels taken. Of course, I have to go in the morning, which is why I haven’t gone yet, and why I’m not sure if I’ll be able to for a while. I’m aiming for tomorrow, but who knows.

I find myself sighing much more often than I ever have. Thing just seem so… blah… grey… pointless.

I’m worried. Things should be getting better on the Lithium. I don’t want to get to the point where no medication helps. I don’t want to have to consider in-patient treatment again.

I just don’t want to feel like this anymore. And I’m sick of saying that — I’ve been saying it since I was 16.

I’m running out of ways to find joy.

I’m running out of future to reach for.

I’m just running out.

I can’t decide if I’ve been down this past week, or if this is my “normal” mood. I’ve been thrown off by working evenings, so my schedule has made a 180 degree turn. I don’t get to bed until between 1 and 3 in the morning, and then I’m sleeping until noon or 1-2 pm. Sometimes work is so busy that I don’t get a chance to eat dinner, so I eat at midnight when I finish. Or I don’t eat at all.

Because I’m working evenings, I work at home. Which also means that I barely leave the apartment, especially on the days when I sleep until 2 and have to work at 4.

So it could be all of that, making me feel a little lower than normal. I haven’t been suicidal, but I will admit that thoughts have crossed my mind. I can’t seem to stop thinking about what things would be like without me. The other night when I couldn’t sleep (despite the Seroquel), I was lying in bed trying to get my brain to stop bouncing around. I got an idea for a story about a manic-depressive woman. The story would run through two possible futures for the woman — either she kills herself or she doesn’t. Think Sliding Doors meets Girl, Interrupted. I wasn’t sure if it would work as a novel, but it got me thinking about my family and friends, and how my death might affect them. I’ll admit that most of the time I’m depressed, I don’t think about the implications on those around me. However, now it’s all I can think about.

In some earlier posts, I said that every day was just a lead up to going back to sleep. Now it feels like a lead up to the day I gather the courage to follow through. I’m not sure if that day will ever come, but it’s always in the back of my mind. Haven’t found the right guy to spend my life with? Doesn’t matter, I’d just end up hurting him when I die. Haven’t had a child yet? No problem, you don’t want to pass along this illness anyway, and then you’d just end up hurting it when you’re gone.

What’s the point in going through the motions? It’s been eight years since I was officially diagnosed, and 13 or so years since I figured out what I was suffering from. Nothing has changed. Except now I’m also an insomniac.

I’m almost 30 years old. Can I deal with this for the next 50 years? Can I get married and find happiness, find a man who can handle loving a manic-depressive? Can I really have children, with all the risks of passing this on, not to mention having to be off meds for more than 9 months? If those are the two things I want most in this world and they seem so impossible to get, why am I even bothering?

… literally and figuratively.

It’s been a while since I last wrote, for a variety of reasons. The biggest is that I was in a deep low for about two weeks and couldn’t bring myself to let anything out here. That period was (thankfully) broken up in the middle by a lovely trip to New York to visit a good friend — it was the perfect mix of being busy and being relaxed. I didn’t feel depressed while I was there, which I was worried about. But as soon as I got home, I fell back into it.

It’s been about two weeks since the low lifted. I was working for two weeks, in the office — the morning shift. So I was getting up at 5:30 am. After about a week of that, I ran out of sleeping pills. I thought I was going to have to make an emergency appointment with my doctor, but I was so tired from the early mornings, I actually slept — four nights in a row without sleeping pills!

Then — just like that — it went away. So I’m back on Seroquel to sleep, but it doesn’t take as much as it used to, so that’s a good sign. Plus, today was my first day not working, and my body is so used to getting up early now that I was up and ready to go at 9 this morning rather than the usual early afternoon wake up I’d usually have on an off day.

With the energy I got from being at work for two weeks, I’ve been feeling good. I spent the weekend cleaning (in between work), as I’d let the apartment get really nasty for a couple of weeks. I’ve been getting out, getting groceries, cooking (!), and getting to bed at a reasonable time.

I feel really good when I don’t have somewhere to be. As soon as I have something (like my appointment with Barbara Streisand today), I shut down, close in, don’t want to go anywhere. It took all my energy to get into the shower today.

Anyway, the point is, generally, I’m feeling alright these days. I have the rest of the week off before starting the evening shift on Sunday, for three weeks. I’m hoping the short break will prevent me from getting too low before work starts again.

Yesterday was a really, really bad day.

I feel like I’ve been writing that more and more lately. I haven’t done the blood test yet to see if the lithium levels are okay, but I’m pretty sure I need to be on a higher dose. Lithium’s claim to fame is that it controls suicidal thoughts. But it’s not doing that for me.

Yesterday it was all I could think about. I sat on my couch and cried, and thought about calling someone to vent to. I decided against it, as everytime I thought about what I’d say, I ended up crying harder.

I’ve never felt as dejected about the future as I did last night. I thought about my friends who are getting married and having babies and couldn’t picture that ever happening to me. It’s not just that the future seems bleak — I can’t see a future for myself at all.

I’ve been thinking about moving, but then I think, why bother? That’s pretty much how I feel about everything lately. Why bother.

I couldn’t get out of bed for work this morning, so I told them I’d be working from home. I worked in bed until noon and only got up because I wanted a cigarette. All I want to do is sleep. I haven’t even been eating, which would explain the four pounds I’ve lost over the past couple of days. The not eating isn’t helping with the shaking, even though I stopped taking the Loxapine.

I’ve also stopped the Immovane. I realized that I can’t really account for the past few weeks other than brief glimpses of things I did. The Immovane put me into a zombie state that I’ve never experienced before. I feel like I need to call people and apologize.

So it’s back to Seroquel to help me sleep. I was so tired after work yesterday that I actually napped when I got home, slept like a baby without taking anything, for the first time in months.

It would have been better if I’d just slept through the night, but I got up around 6 and had the worst night ever.

I’ve also completely given up on not smoking. I haven’t even cut back like I wanted to. I just don’t care. I figure, might as well enjoy the few things I still enjoy in life, right?

I can’t seem to think long-term. Even with my job, I don’t schedule work more than two weeks out. The future is such a big question mark, and I don’t know what to do about it.

I don’t have the energy to make any changes in my life. I don’t know how to go about making myself happy again. I don’t know if I ever really was happy.

It makes me really sad to write that, but it’s true.

Why can’t the earth just open up and swallow me. Why can’t I just disappear?

I’ve been hiding out as much as I can, avoiding phone calls and such. I’m going to New York next week for a long weekend to visit a friend, and I feel like I need to save up as much energy as I can muster for that trip.

I feel so self-pitying. This is why I didn’t write a post last night when I was feeling even worse. I feel like I need to censor myself in case I worry people too much, but isn’t that the point of this blog? To be honest about how I’m feeling?

It’s almost time to log off work for the day. I’m debating going right back to bed, but I should probably not do that. I’m back to wasting time until I can go back to sleep. Everything leads up to going back to sleep. Last night I wanted nothing more than to sleep forever. I’m not feeling optimistic today, but at least I can say I’m feeling better than last night.

That’s got to be good for something.

On Saturday, I cleaned my entire apartment – while I was awake and fully aware of what I was doing.

On Saturday night, I sleep-shopped.

The best I can figure is that since the apartment was completely clean, I didn’t have anything else to do, so I shopped instead.

That’s right, I online shopped for two upcoming baby showers. I vaguely remember doing it, and had enough foresight to have one set of goodies shipped to me express so it would arrive in time for Saturday’s festivities.

I even bought stuff on the registry for one friend, and ordered gifts on the theme of bed/bath for the other. Then I made a list of all the things I’d need to wrap the gifts in boxes that I planned to decorate to look like alphabet blocks, and put the list in my purse beside a dress that I need to take to the drycleaners.

I’m really productive when I’m asleep. I also spend too much money, but that’s another story.

I jest, but it’s really becoming a problem. The past two nights I’ve turned my phone on airplane mode so I won’t be able to call or text, and slept with the phone in the other room. I’ve been considering setting up booby traps so I won’t leave my bed without waking up. A friend mentioned I should videotape myself so I can see everything I do…. I think that’s going too far, and reminds me of that creepy movie Paranormal Activity. I don’t want to discover a ghost on top of everything else.

***

I’ve decided that enough is enough. I’m cutting off my intake of Immovane, as it seems to be the main reason why I’m doing these things. I’ve also been a zombie for the past few days, which doesn’t help when you have to sit in an office reading all day.

The good news is my erratic behaviour at work has gone unnoticed (thanks in part to having my own office in a very quiet corner, and also in part to my ability to do my job regardless of my mental deficiencies), and my supervisor told me that any time I need to work from home, to just let her know. Looks like I won’t be working the upcoming two weeks (my choice), and I’m really looking forward to the break.  

I know that sounds awful coming from a woman who doesn’t work full-time to begin with. I know I should be jumping at the chance to work and make some money. But really, I can’t do it. It takes everything in me not to just walk out of the office every day and not come back.

The joys of freelancing allow me to take time off whenever I need it, and this is one of those times.

In other news, Dr. A is afraid the lithium dose I’m on right now is too low, so I’ve got to do more blood tests this week to see if that’s the case.

However, some good news is that, after gaining seven pounds due either to trying to quit smoking or my medication change, I’ve lost about four pounds in a couple of days. I know that doesn’t sound healthy, but consider that most of the weight gain from medications is water weight.

That feels like a weird place to end a post, but c’est la vie.

Last night I reached a new low… in terms of my “sleepwalking,” that is.

I saw Dr. A. yesterday (and Naomi — more on that later), and he gave me Seroquel and Immovane to sleep. Immovane for the nights I really needed it.

Well, after having a lovely dinner with a few close friends, I got home and tidied up my place. I was exhausted, but couldn’t even keep my eyes closed. So I popped three Immovane and waitied for the sleep fairies to take me away.

An hour later, when nothing had happened, I split a pill in two and took it. The next thing I knew, I was crawling into bed, around 10:30.

When I woke up this morning, I had two missed texts from a friend in Calgary. Apparently I’d texted him at 11 (and not just once, we’d had an entire conversation).

I didn’t think any more of it until I got an email from a friend saying sorry he’d missed my call last night, he just got my message this morning.

Oops. Time to check what other damage I’d done.

Luckily, the only other call I made was to my mother, and she assured me this afternoon that I hadn’t said anything inappropriate or silly.

I’d also managed to pack a bag (I’m staying over at a friend’s place in Burlington tonight). Who knows what else I might have done.

The difference between this and the “sleepwalking” I’ve done in the past is that those times I sort of remember doing whatever I did. This time, I had no recollection. As far as I knew, I was fast asleep in bed.

Tonight, at my friend’s place, I’m planning on leaving the phone in the other room. I might need to warn her that I might get up and start cleaning her house, although I’m sure that she won’t mind.

***

Anyway, I also saw Naomi yesterday and we talked about me quitting smoking. See, I’ve been having a really hard time with it, and it’s been stressing me out and making me really paranoid. I’m afraid to fail, and even thinking about having one is like failing. So I’ve been punishing myself.

She said that with everything I’m dealing with, especially the stress of not being able to sleep, this might not be the best time to go cold turkey. She suggested I give myself a limit per day, one or two, and not surpass that limit. She said, wouldn’t you feel better having cut down 10 cigarettes than punishing yourself for having one?

I have to say, she makes a good point.

I did break down and buy a pack, but I only had two yesterday. None today since I’m at work and then going to visit my pregnant friend.

So that’s the story.

I’ve also had two large coffees and an extra-large tea today, and I still feel drugged. This morning when I was talking to Sasha (yes, I talk to my cat), my voice was slurred. I don’t even slur when I’m drunk!

The coffee is doing a number on my stomach, since I don’t normally drink coffee. I needed the boost though, to make it through work. Only halfway through the day. Please let the second half go quickly!