A little peace of mind. Finally. Not a lot, but enough so that I feel like I'm slowly wiggling my way out of a scary, dark cave. I like feeling better. What I don't like is this "eh...I really can't be bothered because I don't give a shit" feeling. Well...it's not really that I don't LIKE it, because, honestly it's not so bad. It's just that it's not "in my character", so to speak. Medicine will do that. Try to fix everything, even if it isn't broken.
But, in any case, it will have to do for now or until my Doctor is back from maternity leave. I can't really stomach the thought of explaining my "situation" to anyone new right now, and seeing how I have the Celexa stocked piled in my cabinet, I'd say it's all working out swimmingly. "Swimmingly". Okay...enough with the italics and the "quotes". Not really.
My Man, (who will forever be referred to as RL, unless he cheats on me, in which case we will then refer to him as asshole.), and I have this thing we do. We talk, or rather, we just say shit. Stupid Shit. For no reason, and then we usually laugh. Because it's funny. Or, because we think it's funny, is probably more accurate.
Me: Everyone kept asking what I use for Birth Control at the Doctors office.
RL: Birth Control?
Me: Yeah. I said nothing.
RL: Did you tell them you usually don't even get the guys name?
Me: Not true. I DO get their names...just not until after I've stolen their wallet.
None of that is true, by the way. Except the part about not using Birth Control. So I'm off now to heed the following warning...
Alcohol may intensify this affect
Or to possibly ignore it.
Hope, who can't be bothered with spell check.