Thursday, January 14, 2010

Lather, rinse, repeat

So I've started to recognize a pattern (it always takes me a while). I start taking antidepressants> I feel better> I feel awesome> I crash> I up the dosage a little> I feel better> I feel awesome> I crash. You get the idea. 

I'm afraid to just jump into the dosage (the highest that's recommended) I was on originally because I tend to get little side servings of anxiety while my brain is adjusting to a new dosage and I'm afraid if I dump too much on it the poor thing will just implode. And then all my blog posts would look like this: djhksjgbdfwfbadglabeTWE. Nobody wants that. I think... (if I'm mistaken and you'd been dying to see what kind of writing I could produce sans brain, let me know and I'll throw something at you see what I can do).

Yesterday was a bad day. Today is also not so good. I should feel better by tomorrow or the next day. But today it feels like an angry horde of bees is trapped in my skull. And also my gut. Do bees run in hordes? I guess they don't really run at all. 

I'm scared about not finding a job. I keep going around in circles and coming back to what I do now as the only sure way I can pay the bills. I've already told my employer to start looking for a replacement because I don't want to put her in a bind if I find something else. It's a bad time of year for her to be without childcare, and I don't want her to have to transition later when things are even busier. But that means I might be out of work soon, except for a few hours a week. And everyone here is looking for a job. The market is flooded with people who are overqualified for the jobs I'm under qualified for. Bah. I'm going to live in a cave in the tropics and eat coconuts and carve sage and witty sayings into the cave wall that people will toss coins at me to view. Here's the first one:

Dear Pat Robertson,
WTF, man? You have just confirmed what I've thought of you for years and then some. I know Don Williams says I should go easy on you because you are a sad frightened little man on the inside, but I feel like shipping you to Haiti and feeding you to starving survivors. Thank you for confirming the prevailing and unfortunately frequently true opinion that Christians are assholes.

Yours truly,


Mrs. Spit said...

Thanks for thinking the same thing about Pat Robertson that I did.

Icky little man.

Jocelyn said...

Ah, Jess, I'm so sorry. Your description of what it feels like inside of you is really, well, yuck. I do hope the meds start to do what they should--and that your body can decide to not require the highest dose.

And the job thing? Crap on that, too.

In other news: I think you're swell.