Line for Line

[thepnutgallery]

3 am. I have no idea what to do at this point, except try to figure out how long a single pill will let me sleep for, then figure out how to divide it such that I have time to take one, wake up in the middle of the night, then take another before work. But then my stomach felt weird, and then I spent the rest of the morning belching and vomiting saliva. Bile or whatever got mixed in eventually, and I finally threw up some really bitter saliva, and my stomach settled down. But Lady Miss Friday didn't seem bothered by my constant getting up, so at least there's that. I considered coffee for obvious reasons, but decided to wait to see how badly I needed it, ya know? Somehow, I was still a machine. Took care of all the work that came in over night for my digits, then caught up the claims queue for everyone else until mail was delivered. I only had a few items, and I was just struggling with what to do next when Tim called.

He thought he'd scheduled the appointment for an hour earlier, but now that I think of it, the 10:30 time was perfect. We had our weekly meeting at 10:30, and if my appointment had been at 9:30, I'd have been freaking out trying to make it back in time. Anyway, I have no poker face, and no interest in developing one. Thusly, Tim could *hear* the difference in my pitch, my tone, my speech pattern...absolutely everything between today and the last time we talked. Admittedly, I think I was sinking lower than I realized the other day. We talked some about this new relationship with meds I'm negotiating. I have no problem being dependent on sleeping pills, I just need them to always work for me, science and tolerance be damned! But since I've discovered my antidepressants reduce all my other emotions, I'm now trying to juggle them so I can have my highs without my lows, which doesn't work, biochemically. I did used to wonder if I was maybe bipolar, since I feel *everything* so deeply when I'm not medicated, but weirdly, crazy highs and subterranean lows are not, diagnostically speaking, symptoms of bipolar, unless they result in hospitalization, et al. Though now that I look again, hypomania is a thing, and I might actually be Bipolar 2. Guess the Disorder! is not really a game show I expected to play, but I'm unsurprisingly uninspired by it. Sure, finding out a bunch of ish I thought were standard are actually dysfunctional, and a bunch of things I thought were quirks are actually dysfunctions has been *hilarious,* but to not even be able to figure out which fucking thing is wrong is a might bit irritating. He compared it to an old friend who had to take lithium, but she didn't like the side effects, so she stopped. Then went predictably crazy, drove her car into the ocean, and was picked up wandering naked on the beach by police. It turns out I've been holding on to a slightly adversarial relationship with my psychiatrist. I'm chalking that up to him halving my prescription without telling me. But even before then, I treated him as a pharmacological vending machine. I mean....why not though? I've got a therapist and a doctor already, however much patience it takes to have me as a patient. He is literally just there to write brain pills. I need my pills to do these things for me. Give me that or GTFO. He mentioned I should really have my doc, my psych, and my trist y'know...know who the others were. Tim suggested I talk to them, an idea so crazy it might just work. But like...later. I wanted to make sure I had absolutely everything I could possibly do at work done before I left, and like...get dressed and stuff.

I arrived at 10:10, and was greeted, not by Ms. Rose at the door, but our friend, a Disney-esque line. It turns out the "appointment time" just signifies they will reserve a vaccine for you, not any kind of timing. On the plus side, everyone was lovely, if on edge, but that combination put me in Charm Mode, absolutely desperate to keep the mood above water. And I got to meet an emotional support dog named Teddy Bear. Even though the whole ordeal took about 3 hours plus travel time, I was fine with it. Mostly because I remembered to text Kathy that it was taking forever, and because I had done literally everything I could possibly do (for all my actual job responsibilities) before I left. And thanks to Teddy Bear. Side note: I'm delighted Tim got me the J&J. Both to calm my anxiety about fucking up the second shot date, and because...sure, I'd do it, but JFC I would be so miserable. Speaking of miserable, I had to take the horrible merge from the 163 to get home, and people kept trying to drive in the shoulder to cut, then had the audacity to honk at me for repeatedly blocking them. I almost wish one of them hit me, just to see them try to explain that they were only driving off the road to cut, and I should have let them. Because reasons.

I stopped by the store on the way back. I wanted to get some veg sushi as a reward for dealing with this, and because I couldn't remember how much vodka I had left, and didn't want to risk having to brave the store over the weekend. I have no clue WTF is going on, but it was crowded. At 1:15 on a weekday. I bought my sushi, vodka, and even some ginger snaps. I don't know, occasional splurges just don't have the same terror they used to. I'm really happy I opted not to take any more time than I was absolutely required to off, because several things came up that would have been unpleasant to come back to on Monday. I ended the day, again, finished with absolutely everything I could possibly do, done, despite that 3.5 hour break. I'd have realistically spent the extra time working on the Benoit, and I tried, but I was simply too tired to focus after work.

Julian called because he'd found a new weed dealer, got stoned AF. Even though I've sent him how to get his card in Arkansas, D9 Alternatives that are entirely legal in every state, honestly, whatever he finds that works for him is fine. He was cooking chicken Cordon Bleu, but it turns out that has nothing to do with blue cheese. Or Bleu cheese. It's just like... Stuffed with ham. The conversation was fine, but he asked if my mom *really* called last night, or I was just lying to get off the phone. I sent him a screenshot of my phone record, though he insisted it wasn't necessary, even as he continued to snipe about it. Sure, I could've not sent it, then have Julian develop a paranoid insistence that I lied. And speaking of that, he then tried to retcon his trip from a couple years ago. Said he never flirted with other boys, *they* just kept throwing themselves at him. Then insisted I didn't tell him about the bj until he interrogated me over the course of the next couple days. We just had a conversation about his affection double standard, IDGAF about bj's (see: Hugo. The first time), and we just went through this with whether my mom called. I will not be gaslighted like this. I offered to send him a screenshot of my journal from that day. He calmed down, then had to go to finish dinner.

Just before I crashed, Tim forwarded me his cancelling Pupple's insurance. I'd asked him to do it two months ago, because since I'm just the credit card, I can't. I should have taken the card off, but they'd probably have just kept billing him with additional late and non-payment fees. It was $200 total, and I think I'm going to fight it. The idea that they didn't take my card off when I told them to cancel the policy two months ago because I don't *own* the policy is typical capitalist, profit over principle, theft. Yeah, they're pet insurance, which is important. But this and the fact that my payments went up every year with no notice make it clear they're in it to make money, not help. No sympathy. My bleeding heart shan't for them. Thanks for helping me sort that, Journal!