Of Manzanas and Murder

13,038 Days Alive

560 Day Streak on Duolingo

I’d metaphorically kill for a good Granny Smith Apple and some caramel or peanut butter. Or some grapes and cheese. Just… charcuterie fixing in general seem to be the craving. That and murder shows.

We watched the ridiculous but mildly entertaining Justice Served: Murderous Affairs this evening after dinner. I’ve seen them all, but it’s good background noise for times that I should be writing. I still haven’t, but the urge is slowly resurfacing. Like a fossil at the Le Brea Tar Pits; histrionically slow but coming back all the same.

I still haven’t started that new sleeping med I’m supposed to be taking. What if I have nightmares I can’t wake up from because of it? What if I have an allergic reaction to it? What if I oversleep and get in trouble at work? I’ll start it this weekend, see if it helps.

I still have to wait for the 22nd to get my overview by the damned doctor that didn’t even bother to meet me. I’m still pissed that this chick is supposed to diagnose me without even having met me. Forgive me if my fucking faith is not rock solid in a perfect stranger.

I have therapy this weekend. Maybe I’ll talk to Mx. Steph about how I seem to be coming out of this super suicidal moment now that I’ve got my hair colored again and an upped dosage. I personally think that meds can only go so far to help when you feel like you don’t look like yourself.

I’m tired. I’m not doing too badly otherwise the pain and still being suicidal. I mean, I did okay at work today. Finished on time and everything. But I’m sore and running low on CVD gummie bears so I may have to start taking pain meds again which I, ugh, hate.

I miss my bubble of friends. Reffie, Chelé, Jæ, Gwen; I want to be limitedly social with people damn it. Otherwise why did I bother getting the shot in the first place? Other than not dying which, meh, I guess is a good thing.

Anyway. I’m for bed.

Take your meds, folks.

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