Cause it fixed me! My symptoms are gone.

Well, almost. There is still some pain when I pee, but it’s nothing compared to the gut-ripping agony that came with the act a mere 24 hours ago.

So three cheers for Cefixime. It works fast and well.

And I can see why the doctor took pains to warn me not to stop taking the pill when my symptoms went away. Were I an even less wise person, I might have been tempted to say, “Woohoo, I’m cured!” and forget all about Cefixime.

But as patient readers know, I know from experience how bad an idea that is. When I was going to UPEI, I caught a nasty cold. Went to the doc, got the pills, took them for three or four days, felt better, and stopped.

Causing my nasty cold to come back as something so heinous that my friends had to take me to the hospital, where I stayed for three whole days.

A time about which I remember absolutely nothing.

I remember getting there and I remember leaving, but the events that transpired within are locked away in a big black box which I am happy to never, ever open.

Some things are just not worth remembering, ya know?

So you better believe that I am going to finish my week of Cefixime. Some lessons even a fool like me only needs to learn once.

Meanwhile, I will just have all the other ways in which I am dying to deal with.

So. yay that.

More after the break.

It’s a bottomless pit

That’s what I fall into when I try to explain or justify my inaction on so many things involved in taking care of my health.

I’m a very sick man. And I do precious little about it,

I don’t monitor my blood sugar. I don’t take my insulin. Or my other injection. I don’t exercise, or even move around much. I don’t even spend any time not looking ar screens., let alone getting any fresh air or sunshine.

Instead I live like a monk. Or a hermit. Or both.

And I have no explanation or justification for this self-neglect.

All I have is a single word, which I will get to shortly.

It’s not like I think I am doing the right thing. I am not so delusional as to make up specious bullshit justifications for my actions and (mostly) inactions.

I’m doing it all wrong. And I know that.

It just fails to motivate me to change.

I mean, join the club. Very little motivates me to do anything at all. That’s why I am wasting my life playing games on my tablet all day.

Other motivations can’t even get their foot in the door.

So I know I am continuously failing myself. And I don’t care.

I know I am hastening my own demise. And I don’t care.

I know that before I die I will go through medical hell as things shut down one by one until I die a miserable and meaningless death, scared and alone and in great pain and I still don’t fucking care.

Not where it counts. Not in a way that leads to action. enough for it to make me any more capable of change.

And all the rational self-interest arguments in the known universe can’t fix that.

Because I will agree with every one of them.

And it won’t change a goddamned thing.

How could it? I already agree that I should do all the things.

Doesn’t make me any more capable of doing them, Just adds to the list of ways in which I am failing.

So the only justification I can offer is that single word I mentioned : depression.

Why don’t I monitor and control my blood sugar? Depression.

Why do I stay in bed and play games all day? Depression.

WHY AM I ON THE FAST TRACK TO A SLOW DEATH? DEPRESSION.

I am just too crazy to live. And there’s nothing anyone can do about it, least of all me.

I hope it was nice to know me.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

Well today’s been fun.

Around 3 am, I started needing to pee every 20-30 minutes.

This was pretty irritating. But initially I thought I was just going through one of my “watershed” periods where I pee a lot and wonder where I have been keeping it all and so forth and so on.

But then, in the middle of yet another trip (trip, trip) to the loo, it hit me like a bolt out of the blue : I remember the last time I had to pee this often.

It was right before I started peeing blood all those years back!

Ah, the memories.

So when blood started showing up in my urine around 6 am, I was not in the least bit surprised. History was repeating itself.

What I did not expect was the pain.

Holy crap does it hurt to pee right now. Especially at the beginning. Starting to pee feels like someone is trying to stop a Mack truck going 80 mph downhill using only the gearshift, a nd my bladder is stuck in the gears.

As I pee, the pain fades. By the time I finish, it’s down to a dull ache.

Still pretty painful but nothing compared to the overture.

So naturally, after the usual dithering, I got Julian to drive me to the ER.

Thus began the usual waiting around in various places till around 3 pm there was the usual whirlwind visit from the doctor resulting in the highly predictable being sent home with a prescription for an antibiotic.

In this case, Cefixime.

And now, I am going to lay down and try to sleep because I have not slept at ALL.

Hard to sleep when you have to get up to take a painful pee ever 20 minutes.

More after the break.

Good news, everybody! It’s back!

My appetite, that is.

And thank frickin’ Whoever for that, because I had not eaten all day. My urological issues knocked my appetite out and left me nauseous and I just couldn’t make myself even think about food, let alone eat it.

Dumb, I know. Diabetics like me should never skip meals .I could have ended up having a Low Blood Sugar Incident, and those are never fun.

Except that one time, but we don’t talk about that.

And, ya know, I could die. And 4 out of 5 people surveyed agreed or strongly agreed that would probably be Bad.

And that fifth person doesn’t count because it was me.

Had to take a cab home from RGH. By the time they were done with me, Joe and the car were both at work and hence unavailable for medical chauffeur duty.

I was nervous about it. After all, a fall while getting out of cab is what got me 8n this whole needing-a-walker business in the first place.

But everything went fine. And that little act of independence did my soul some good.

Oh, and I finally got some frigging sleep. And that made a huge difference.

Because there’s nothing so bad that a lack of sleep can’t make it worse.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

I am surprised it’s taken me this long to get to this point, but…

God, do I hate Android.

Why? Because it hides your freaking files, that’s why.

See, this morning I brought my tablet with me when I went to my appointment with Doctor Chao because with Doctor Chao, there WILL be a long wait.

Sure enough, I ended up sitting in an exam room for half an hour or so. During that time, I wanted to use my tablet, but I had forgotten to inquire about Wi-Fi, so I had to use my tablet sans internet.

“No problem!”, I thought, “I’ll just blog.”

So I opened up the office suite called OfficeSuite on my Amazon Kindle Fire 10 and started typing away., figuring I would just email the file to myself when I got home.

Sounds plausible enough, doesn’t it?

But when I went to do so, I couldn’t find it. Whatever directories the email program could access did not contain my file, and there was no way to escape that tiny file area in order to access the larger file system.

Same with the so-called Files app As far as it was concerned, my file did not exist.

And yet, if I looked for it in OfficeSuite, there it was.

As a lifelong PC user, this is unbelievably frustrating. Apparently, all apps in Android exist in their own individual file universe, inaccessible to any other app.

Exactly where is it putting the file? Don’t worry your pretty little head over that. You a clearly too stupid to handle the vast mysteries of a DIRECTORY TREE STRUCTURE.

So there’s 150+ words of genuine blogging trapped on my tablet despite it being on the internet, as is its desired destination.

I’m going to have to find a freaking file host, aren’t I?

More after the break.

Here there be dragons

One thing that sort of underwrites my social anxiety is that the place from which I draw my wit and warmth and charm also has monsters in it.

And if I am being all spontaneous in realtime, one of them might just slip out, leading me to say something I really, really shouldn’t.

Something super perverted, or a wisecrack that is far too cutting, or a statement that makes me seem creepily cold and detached.

Or any number of other gaffes too horrifying to contemplate.

And the more tense or agitated I am, the more likely it is to happen as that overcharge of energy seeks to express itself in words.

At that point, I could say damned near anything.

So the question becomes, what then? How do I recover from that?

I would probably fall back on my charm and candor by immediately say, “Wow… why the hell did I say that? Sorry folks. Sometimes my crazy mind grabs the microphone.”

That might work. Heck, if I am really cooking, it might even make people like me even more than they did before.

Note how when I started talking about this, it didn’t take for me to slip into thinking of it terms of my doing standup comedy.

Maybe I should get back to doing that,

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

Is “goddamned demon” redundant?

Anyhow, woke up this afternoon to a SEVERE attack of the Demon Hunger.

As in, it felt like I had swallowed a black hole. Like there was something in my stomach trying to burrow its way out. A hunger so huge it felt like I could eat the whole damned world and still be clamoring for seconds.

Luckily, now that I am eating, things have settled down to a sub-crisis level. But that was pretty damned hairy there for a while.

Clearly I need to get off my delectable ass and find my needle tips so I can inject some insulin and put this issue to rest for a while

And I’d better do it soon, or I might find out what happens when the insulin thing stops working and I get “stuck” in that state.

I would have to call 911 before I went completely insane.

And just to ward off any judgment, I wouldn’t tell them I was super hungry.

I would just say that my stomach hurt.

It didn’t help when, acting on autopilot as one does in a crisis, I sat there and waited around half an hour in total agony until it was my usual lunch time of 3 pm.

No, YOU have a weird schedule.

Looking back, I am sure I could have forgiven myself for eating ahead of schedule this one time, given the circumstances.

But I was not exactly at my most rational at the time.

More after the break .

A busy Tuesday

By my standards, anyhow.

I have two whole things to do!

First, at 8:45 am, I got Wound Care. Yay, I get to get up at like 8:15 am.

That’s the first appointment slot of the day at the good old CCC. So it literally could not possibly be any earlier.

But meh. I can sleep when I get home.

First, though, I will have an appointment with my GP, Doctor Chao.

I am overdo for one by about a month. I was supposed to see him a month after I got out of the hospital’s hospitality and that was in August and it’s October now, so…

I am just plain not good at this life thing.

If there was a Humane Society for people, I would be removed from my own care due to neglect. There would be viral videos of the heroic rescue all over TikTok.

But sadly, that’s not how the real world works.All I can do is struggle along the best I can given my physical and psychological limitations and pray that will be enough.

Dear Whoever, please keep me from dying of things I can’t do anything about. Please be so kind as to compensate for my inadequacies and lead me to a happier, healthier, and more wholesome life, because I am a really nice guy and don’t deserve to die young just because I am too crazy to look after myself but not crazy enough for someone else to do it for me.

Amen, hallelujah, etc.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

OK, let’s try this again, this time trying hard not to let the bad side of my mind deflect unwanted attention by leading me down the path of intellectualization.

Here we go.

Let’s call it what it is : escape addiction.

And it’s a terrible scam to be pulling on yourself because it keeps me in flight mode almost all the time.

It’s a lot like being on the run from the law. Paranoia, suspicion. moodiness, and agitation, all together in the chaos of my mind.

And it’s all for nothing. Nobody is after me. I don’t have to constantly be mentally moving around like a nervous shark because it’s when you’re standing still that they will find me and GET me.

But there’s nobody there. There never has been and never will be. Fear is not evidence of there being something worth fearing.

Reality doesn’t work like that.

And I want to calm down. Really I do. But that scared little animal inside my head won’t let me. It’s still running scared.

And as far as it knows, it’s all this mad scampering around that has kept it safe (ish) all these years. The idea that it’s all been a huge waste of time and a lot of unnecessarily pain and fear and suffering is very hard for it to take.

Way easier to just keep running.

It’s something we know how to do.

But we know the truth now, and the truth is that we are perfectly safe.

Relax and rest, little critter. You’re home now. You made it, You’re safe.

So now what do I do with myself?

More after the break.

So much freedom

Is it possible to be too free?

One of my personal paradoxes is that I inherently and instinctively resist anything that would limit my precious personal autonomy.

But then I fall into hell time and get paralyzed by indecision as my poor brain valiantly tries to process all the variables I fought to preserve.

I absolutely must have my autonomy. But I don’t know what to do with it when I have it.

Clearly something’s got to give. As far as I can tell, the only solution to the burden of days and the infinite hallway of infinite door is to make your decisions based on emotions. What do you feel like doing?

I have no fucking idea.

At least, in terms of things I actually can do. There’s all kinds of things I would love to do but lack the means to do.

Like create, write, produce, and star in my own sitcom. Or skit comedy show. I’d love to be a staff writer on a late night show. Or a television personality. Or how about writing little books about animals with human problems like David Sedaris.

“But none of that is beyond your grasp! You just have to choose your goal and work hard to achieve it! You can be anything you want to be!”

Yeah, miss me with that shit. You lost me at ‘choose’. How?

And no, you can’t be or do if you just try hard and believe in yourself.

No amount of false positivity is going to make my brain or my body work any better. I will still be a crippled lunatic who can’t cope with life.

I’ll still be the world’s oldest caterpillar, the little boy who can never grow up, the enormous brain in a diaper.

The hothouse orchid withering in the cold of a winter it had no way to handle.

A true blue victim of Failure to Launch Syndrome.

One of the baby birds who did not fly in time to save himself.

A cripple on all fronts.

In other words, I’ll still be me.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

Life has become a lot more painful lately.

Case in point, what happened last night when I got out of bed to go out to the living room to watch stuff with Le Gang.

I immediately became very dizzy. And not the relatively safe, harmless kind of dizzy either. It was more like the head swimming, nausea inducing, headache causing lind of dizziness you’d get after s severe blow to the head.

My life is so fun.

Oh, and I was seeing those damned dots everywhere too. Like someone had just taken a photo with a flash.

At first, I tried to just go ahead and get ready to go watch stuff. But that barely lasted a minute before I realized I was way too sick and dizzy to do so.

So I staggered over to slump into this fucking computer chair.

Luckily, this time I didn’t miss.

Then I sat there for a little while just trying to hold myself together and make some kind of sense of my predicament and hopefully not barf.

Spoiler alert : I didn’t barf.

Eventually I remembered that the last attack like this had been caused by my being dehydrated. So when Joe and Julian poked their heads into my room to see what was up with me, I knew what I needed : a tall glass of water.

Which I drank in less than a minute.

Yup. I was dehydrated all right.

Then came a brief but intense sweaty period called me as my body caught up with all the perspiration it had been too dry to do.

Then the fever broke and I cooled off and felt SO much better.

I was then able to join my friends.

More after the break.

Stop trying to escape!

Ironically, this is a topic I’ve been meaning to examine for a long time but kept putting off. In fact, even right now, the bad part of my mind is panicking and trying to make me stop writing about this in favour of something more diary-like.

And you know what that means.

We’ve hit paydirt!

Been thinking a lot about escapism lately., and what a terrible disease it can be.

Because an escapist like me is always looking for the exits. No matter what the situation is, even if it’s quite wonderful, part of us is ready to bolt out the door and head for the hills at any moment.

This leads to a life of constant stress. The escapist can never truly relax because the paranoid weasel at the center of their brain is convinced that the moment you relax they are going to GET you.

Who’s going to get you and what they are planning to do to you when they GET you is unspecified and unknown. It lies beyond the upper limit of fear, where all our most powerful invisible demons and nameless dreads live.

This gives it direct access to the most primitive and powerful parts of our minds. Parts like the reptile brain and the amygdala. Parts that, for very good evolutionary reasons, have the power to bypass reason entirely and put our instincts in control.

Just the thing for generating blind, unreasoning fear that actively suppresses your ability to stop and ask yourself what you’re afraid of.

Because then you’d realize there’s nothing there. Whatever originated the fear is long gone and you’ve been running from the shadows in your own mind all this time.

Because when you are busy panicking and fleeing, you don’t have time to ask whether what you fleeing even real? In fact, if you dig deep enough, you will find that you are running from the fear itself.

That’s how phobias and compulsions work. If there’s a street in your location where you got mugged, the first time you pass it again, it’s the memory that triggers the panic.

But after that, it’s the memory of another terrible thing that happened to you that is associated with that place : your previous panic attack.

And that pattern repeats and reinforces itself till it saturates your mind.

Oh right. I started out talking about escapism, didn’t I?

Looks like I have escaped talking about it again!

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

Things just keep getting worse.

For starters, my leg endurance is lower than ever, and that is quite troubling.’

I just got back from the kitchen after gathering my lunch there and it was a very bad trip. My legs started hurting the moment I stood up and it took only seconds to reach the pain level I usually only experience at the end of a trip.

Granted, I did go to Wound Care at the CCC this morning, so my legs might still be fucked up from that.

But this sort of thing has been happening all week.

Plus my back has started hurting again. I had a lovely peaceful period there where my back barely bothered me at all but now the pain is back to remind me of just how fucksd up my body is.

Compression fracture of the L4 vertebra, reporting for duty, sir!

But by far the thing that worries me the most is that I think my eyesight is getting worse.

I am doing a lot more squinting at the monitor of my PC these days. In fact, just this morning I had to almost double the size of my virtual keyboard just to be able to see what the heck I am typing.

Never had to do that before.

It would be different if I could wear my glasses, but the goddamned things make me farsighted such that anything closer than three feet is a blur.

So most of the time I don’t have them on. And that might be the very reason my eyes are getting worse.

Wouldn’t that just figure?

More after the break.

The storms of recovery

Been doing some shuddering and weeping tonight. And that’s a good thing.

Because it means another iceberg of frozen emotion has calved off the glacier that sits on my heart and floated to the south to melt, be experienced, and disappear.

Because at the end of the day, the only way to get rid of old emotions is to feel them. They only hang around, dragging you down and wearing you out, because at some point you hit pause on them and froze them in place.

Do that enough and you become like me : a walking freezer chest kept eternally and internally the temperature of interstellar space by a massive backlog of frozen emotions that stretches out to all horizons.

With a backlog of over 40 years of unprocessed emotion, there is no way I can experience each thawed emotion individually. I’d be overwhelmed.

But on a good day, when the stars align just right, all my digging into myself results in some much needed catharsis in the form of shaking and tears.

It doesn’t feel good while it is happening. But I feel a lot better when I am done.

And this is no fleeting thing. When it is done, I will have reclaimed another little part of myself by releasing it from emotional storage duty.

So cry away, cry away all. Let it all out. Let all those toxic memories and diseased emotions flow down your body, out through your feet, and down the cracks in the floor, into the good clean Earth.

You don’t need them any more .

Time to find out who you REALLY are!

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

In other words, cranky.

Yes, I am feeling rather cranky at the moment. I was doing OK until I got up to get my lunch together, whereupon :

1. My legs began to hurt immediately, as opposed to my getting a grace period first like I usually do
2. I realized that for some reason, I had brought my food bowl out to the kitchen with me completely unnecessarily and now I had to bring it back
3. I also realized that while I had gotten dressed just for the heck of it. I had forgotten to put on a belt, meaning I now had to dedicate one hand to holding my pants up

So there I was, in pain, holding up my pants with one hand and holding a completely superfluous bowl in the other.

Damn right I’m cranky. Son of a bitch.

Oh well. I actually think getting good and ornery now and then is good for me. Gets my blood pumping and my respiration rate up.

More fundamentally, it puts me in touch, however painfully, with the hot raw and powerful emotions of my deeply neglected id.

And I need that id energy badly. It’s the only cure for all this coldness inside me. I need to dig down through all those layers of permafrost and dead scar tissue till I unearth the deep rich river of life energy that is my true self, namely my id.

So fuck my reason. It’s broken, ignorant, and corrupt, and therefore completely untrustworthy. Fuck my superego too. It’s malign and toxic and a compulsive liar.

Only the id truly tells the truth. Ergo only it can be trusted.

The rest I will still use – I’d be a howling lunatic without them.

But I will be keeping them on a very short leash.

More after the break.

The dastardly duo, part 2

Then again, who’s telling me that I’d go barking mad without my reason and my superego? They do, that’s who!

But they know they have me there. As much as the id is our true, core self – the person we were before we even knew our name – the truth is that without our reason and our superego, we are little more than exceptionally bright monkeys.

So it’s not like I can just jettison them, faulty and corrupt and toxic as they may be.

They must, instead, be purified. (Scary sounding, n’est pas?)

I have to use my metaconscious mind to capture and correct all my bad wiring and dishonest logic circuits and all those dusty tapes taking up room in my head.

Eventually, I will need to go out into the world and make new tapes. Ones full of memories of happy, positive social interaction.

Ones to replace the bad ones from over 40 years ago.

A lot has happened since then.

But I am not there yet. I’m closer than I have ever been and determined to keep fight my way through against the gale, but I am not there yet.

I think it’s high time that I let myself out of this goddamned box.

I was never really trapped in there in the first place.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

So I’ve got a toothache.

It’s in a tooth in the upper right quadrant of my mouth and it feels pretty bad. I can feel the pain right in the root of the tooth. And it throbs.

Right now, the pain is not that bad. I can ignore it when I am not eating. But there is no guarantee it will stay that way.

If anything, it seems to be getting worse, as is the feeling of pressure inside the tooth. Pretty soon, the damned thing might just pop.

It’s happened before. I am down like four teeth which have either fully or partially broken off or just plain fallen out.

Why? Because I never brush my teeth.

Why’s that? Depression.

So I might have to go to a dentist soon, either because the tooth went kablooey or the pain got too intense to endure.

And I don’t want to go to the dentist. And not just for the usual reasons.

It’s also because my teeth make dentists sad.

Because besides the predictable effects of total dental neglect and a diet high in popcorn, there is also a deeper issue with the very structure of my teeth caused by my parents’ decision to not get me braces even after the dentist made an impassioned plea that included the fact that without the braces, my teeth might start falling out later in life and I might even face life threatening issues with my skull.

To which my dear sweet sainted mother just blinked and said, “We can’t afford that!” then we left and it was never spoken of again.

Told you they didn’t value me at all.

As a result of the horror show in my mouth, I am very ashamed of my teeth and don’t want to show them to a dentist or a dental hygienist at all.

And for someone as avoidant as me, that sort of shame is a powerful deterrent. As a result, I have not been to the dentist in over a decade.

But I will go if I must.

I might yet avoid that fate. The tooth might just snap off without blood or trauma like has happened before. It might turn out that a major release of sinus pressure is enough to relieve the pain, or the removal of a particularly nasty popcorn hull might do it.

But if things do take a turn for the worst, the first place I am going to go is the ER.

My teeth won’t make THEM sad.

All too adaptable

There are times when you should adapt to changing circumstances and times when you should fight the change and fix the problem causing it.

I only do the first part.

Take my keyboard issues. I am typing these words via mouse clicking on a virtual keyboard specifically because instead of fighting to get the issue resolved, I just got used to click-typing.

Absurd. Ridiculous. Totally unacceptable. Should be intolerable .

But it ain’t.

Whatever is supposed to make me rise up in indignation and keep on attacking the problem until I solve it doesn’t fucking work.

More after the break.

All too adaptable (cont)

It’s all part of a lifelong pattern of a lack of vitality on my part.

I have always been weak and timid on my own behalf. I will fight like a lion for others, but for myself all my motivation dribbles right out of me like my motivation bucket leaks.

And I don’t want to be this way. I know that the fires of desire and ambition burn within me. I can feel them desperately trying to reach out towards all the good stuff that the world has to offer only to have those tender feelers brutally chopped off by the merciless Gestapo that is my depression.

I could do so many wonderful things with my gifts if the clouds of depression weren’t in my way all the time.

I am something truly magnificent. My creativity and intellect are unparalleled, as are my inner vision and insight. I therefore command vast powers and can perform miracles.

Yet here I am living this crummy filthy pathetic life.

It’s not fair. I deserve to be up there making the big bucks with the movers and shakers of the entertainment world. I should be living like Shonda Rimes and Chuck Lorre.

I could totally create hit shows everyone would love if given the chance.

But no, I am stuck in this tomb of fear, buried alive in my own mind, my tiny supply of motivation and drive eaten up by a video game addiction.

It’s not fair and it’s not right. All this potential going to waste just because I’m mentally ill.

Being crazy sucks;

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

Had my Wounds Cared for this morning.

It went OK. Apparently, a week is long enough for my muscles to recover from the exertions required by a trip to the CCC.

Alert readers will recall that I missed my Wound Care appointment last Friday because I came down with the flu.

This lead to my wounds not getting a dressing change for a week. When something happens only twice a week and you miss a day…

As for today’s adventure, everything went fine. My nurse’s name was Marie and judging by her accent and complexion, she may be from Africa.

I got to feel all luxurious again because there was another nurse hovering around as Marie worked. That and the fact that Marie seemed a little hesitant and shy leads me to conclude that she’s either a student nurse or a freshly minted one.

The luxurious part came when I had one nurse per foot working on me.

Made me feel like a pampered movie star. But also like a piece of taffy being pulled as my legs are pulled in two different directions.

Speaking of these broken down legs of mine, they didn’t bother me too much while I was there and on the way back.

It wasn’t until I was home and resting that the stiffness and pain set in.

So I’ve got a couple of Gabapentin and Naproxen in me to control the pain.

I still think that I shouldn’t be doing these trips if they leave me in this much pain after and take a whole week to recover from.

But they have given me no choice. It’s go to the CCC twice a week or watch my bandages rot off my body.

*sigh* If only I was skinny, and therefore a real human being.

More after the break.

Other hand part II : the actual subject

Oh right, I called the first part that for a reason.

As I rode the elevator to the CCC today, it occurred to me that there’s a much simpler and more probable explanation for my recent cognitive decline than my having some terrible brain disease.

Namely that I have not been getting enough sleep.

My sleep has been low in both quality and quantity lately. So wonder no not think me good. My oft abused medium term memory must be bursting at the seams with memories it is desperate to process and store.

But it can’t do that unless I have been deeply asleep a good long while, and lately I have had a hard time sleeping for more than 45 minutes or so.

This is Bad. Very, Very Bad.

So I might have to take a sleeping pill just to get things started.

I don’t like doing that because those pills make my sleep apnea worse. I sleep too deeply and have way too intense REM periods so that I wake up physically rested but mentally and emotionally a train wreck.

But I don’t know how to treat the issue otherwise. I don’t know yoga, I can’t meditate, and exercise is not really an option right now.

Even simple bed exercises would be beyond my sore and tired muscles rright now.

So I am going to try to sleep more.

But if I find I just can’t, out comes the Zopiclone.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.