mad_andy

The A34 is Hell.

I swear.

Some fucking moron that doesn't know how to drive has a wee bump, the filth shut off the exit to the motorway and the A34 BACKS UP TO BLOODY OXFORD.

Still, I managed to annoy lots of people in open top cars by blasting Zico at distortion levels with my windows open. Fuck 'em.

Paid my outstanding tab at the shop. Christ. NO MORE ANIMALS. Or vivs or nothing. I'm mildly irritated with myself that I have absolutely no self restraint, especially when I know that Slay is going to go batshit.

I'm tired, my tattoo itches, and I should be ripping the room apart trying to find the damn rat snake or ripping the crap out of the understairs cubby to start the conversion process for Zico and Olive. But I can't be arsed, because a twenty minute journey just took me over an hour and I'm in a weird sort of hyped up mood and can't decide whether I want to break something, cry, or sleep.

Once I calm down a bit I'll do something useful. For now, though, I'm off to pace the house moodily.

I'm a spazz, what am I?

Opened my box of meds on friday morning. Instant fucking freakout hit the roof panic. The box I was opening that I had thought to be full in fact was not - it was the almost empty box I'd brought back from the States. I'd been so sure it was a full new box I'd neglected to check. This meant putting a prescription request in on my way to work, and collecting the damn thing on Monday. (The reason I don't until I start my last box is that there's just over two week's worth of capsules in a box, see. Open the last box, make an appoint ment to see the quack or put a scrip request in. Got plenty of crossover time then, see. usually.)

Which also meant that I only had enough medication to take a full dose friday, and two capsules instead of three saturday and sunday.

This is a Bad Thing.

There are several downsides to the antidepressant medication I take. One is the dose; I have to take an amount which, according to the literature, is only recommended for those in hospital actually being kept a very close eye on.

The second is that I am addicted, physically, to the stuff.

If I don't take a dose the side effects are pretty horrific. I can't stand up, I can't focus my eyes, my hands shake, I get palpitations, I throw up a lot. I have panic attacks one after another until I can hardly breathe. I get the urge to hide in a dark corner and scream until my eyeballs burst. I can't sleep but I can't come fully awake either. It's a bit like being trapped in some horrible semi-conscious nightmare state. It's... unpleasant.

But as long as I take my medication, everything is fine. One day I'd like to get off it but who knows? That's a question for the future.

The point is that by taking two thirds of my normal dose I'm spared the worst of the withdrawal symptoms, but oh boy does my brain know it's not getting its full allowance of happy chemicals. I'm OK - just - hanging on in there by my fingernails and the skin of my teeth. Once I get my scrip tomorrow morning I'll take another capsule, then back to my normal three...

Trouble is, I'm supposed to be meeting kraftpistole in Leicester tomorrow. It's a one and a half hour drive along some pretty fucking dodgy motorway, and my reflexes are way off. I can't afford to go up by train, not with my trip to see silicondreams next month, and I can't get through to the hotel where kraftpistole is staying.

I'm in a bit of a quandary. Because driving while your brain is farting about with its neurotransmitter levels isn't always terribly safe.

Oh well. See how it goes in the morning...

Argh!