It is a fucking pain to type like this. It makes my wrist hurt and it’s slow.
Thank you everyone for the well wishes!
The surgery was way quick, the surgeon was a fucking artist compared to the guy who did it last time. And the anesthesiologist was a roman god! This time there was no giant needle jammed into my armpit, no dead arm, no leeches, no voodoo dolls.
The cast is itchy as hell and irritates me to no end. I need to get it off.
So yeah, it went well. I’m recovering. The dogs are super helpful and David rules. he’s very sweet. (except he talks too much during movies – ah but he’s still sweet)

At 6:45am I head in to get this damned cyst removed. I will be unable to post here for a bit. Wish I had something good to leave for you.
I’ll post as soon as possible.
A big thank you to Alex for the South Park dvd’s! YOU RULE!!!
good night, party people!

Thank you, mom. Thank you for picking me. Thank you for adopting me. Thank you for choosing to be my mom. Thank you for taking me in when no one else wanted me. Thank you for putting up with me. Thank you for guiding me. Thank you for supporting me. Thank you for comforting me in the bad times. Thank you for congratulating me in the good times. Thank you.
Thank you for soft boiled eggs on toast with tea when I am sick. Thank you for sushi dinners when I am sad. Thank you for bouillabaisse recipes and cheesecake recipes. Thank you for dinosaur pop up books and bags of yarn.
Thank you for being the port in my storms. Thank you for loving my dogs. Thank you for teaching me how to throw a dinner party with good chine, good conversation and good food. Thank you for being an example to me.
Thank you, mom, for being my mom. More importantly, thank you for CHOOSING to be my mom.
I love you.
(but I’m still picking your nursing home so straighten up!)

not that little blue pill
I, not unlike every other whiny blogger on the planet, have a propensity towards depression. Usually it’s not terrible, just your standard emo moments, some sadness, some anxiety, some love of the jack daniels. Other times it’s a scary inferno of fear, anger, deep disinterest and sheer exhaustion. It’s not something I write about on here often as it’s not something I really talk about to anyone.
It is also one of the myriad factors that led to the break up with my girlfriend 2 years ago. Not the only reason, but definitely in the top ten.
I have good months and bad months and I have a definite down turn in the winter though I am completely loathe to admit that because Seasonal Affective Disorder just seems so…psychosomatic and emo. The acronym doesn’t help matters much.
During one of my internal struggles, my good friend Alan made a comment that stuck with me, “if you had diabetes you’d treat it, diabetes is a chemical imbalance just like depression” or something to that effect. He was not referring to me, we were discussing other things.
So fine. I sucked it up, got a new doctor (it occured to me that my doctor was a major cause of anxiety for me and that I had no reason to not just go get a new one!) and went to discuss my problems. We tried celexa with disastrous results. I was moody, edgy, more anxiety ridden than usual, completely unable to concentrate or motivate myself. I gave it time, but over time things just got worse.
So we switched to zoloft, the cute little blue pill with the cute little ad campaign. It seemed to be working really well for a while. I felt good, things made sense, I was more calm in crises. Now it seems it’s not working as well. I’m back to being unmotivated, I’m tired all the time and it takes considerable effort to not punch my coworkers in the face on a regular basis. I don’t normally want to punch them so I guess if we were making a rating on a scale, I might actually be worse off than before, at least in the “urge to skull punch” category.
It’s also messing with my sleep. I suffer from insomnia anyway, but now it’s a weird new version of insomnia. I have these crazy vivid dreams that wake me up and keep my brain working so hard I feel like I’ve gotten no rest at all. The sad thing is, I really like the dreams, they’re so incredibly vivid and interesting, but also they seem to get filed into my regular memory so I find myself wondering where the mango tree was that I was frantically picking fruit from or whether I had actually bought a giant yellow sedum plant for the front yard.
When I was a teen I was on a number of different anti-depressants. My gp at the time was an overworked doctor with too many patients who didn’t really spend a lot of time dealing with me. We tried all kinds of pills in all kinds of doses, moving things up and down and around. It was a really terrible time for me and to say I was hesitant to find myself in the same place again after 14 years would be an understatement.
It was determined that I didn’t do well on SSRI’s, but everyone loves them, they always get prescribed.
Now my zoloft isn’t working.
I have a pre-op appointment with my doctor on friday and maybe we switch drugs again? maybe the best time to start a new drug is while doped up on painkillers.
It’s strange and naked and unnerving to me to make this sort of public display of my head. There’s so much that I don’t say. Somehow it just seemed important to say it.