So, they'd put me on that Lexapro stuff to help with my anxiety, depression & to curb some of the OCD. The pharmacy switched me to Citalopram (?) because a 90 day supply of that would cost considerably less than a 30 day supply of Lexapro & supposedly the doctor, who has retired on me (another one!), said it would be okay. I had started to ween off the medication anyway because I hate being on medications. I hate wondering who my true self is & feeling like a pharmaceutical version of myself. The medication just gets in the way. But I was desperate because the weak thread I feel like I'm always hanging on by had broken & I was heading face first into a dark hole that there was no way I was going to get out of on my own & I'd missed a fair share of work...which was my clue that I was really starting to not give a f**k about anything anymore. Anyway, that crap that I agreed to take, I think it exacerbated some of the OCD because work is really starting to consume me & I feel like I don't have any control over it. I tossed & turned & tossed & turned thinking about one damned case last night. One damned case. I finally got to sleep after midnight sometime (I stopped clockwatching because I started to panic about how little sleep I was getting & what the deprivation was going to do to me today). I tried reading. I tried writing in my journal. I tried listening to music. No matter what I did, part of my mind was focused on how I was going to fix that damned case. Anyway, I got out of the shower realizing that regardless of how ambitious I am to conquer any case set before me, this one I will not be able to beautify before it needs to move on. I am defeated.

CRAZY TALK!

And then I read last night's blog. I must sound like one of the loneliest 30-something's on the planet. I almost sexualize books. How sad is that? Not sad at all, actually. If I felt that I was accepting this life by default because a more "exciting" life had somehow escaped me, then it would be sad. But I actually kinda dig the life that I have chosen, for the most part. I can still say that I do not regret anything I have done in life...even the bad or unhealthy choices I've made. I've got a handful of friends, which is my preference. I've got a handful of skeletons which keeps me from seeming boring to myself. Of course I wish my temperament was a little more even but my guess is that if I were more emotionally stable, there wouldn't be much worthwhile (at least in my mind) for me to work on. It is the flaw that impacts everything else that I do so I have to keep trying to figure out ways to maintain. So far, I haven't f**ked up too badly with anyone or in anything that I've done occupationally. This is not a life unlived.

So, an acquaintance (& I do not use the term lightly...she barely knows me) told me that she had a dream that I was suffocating her for entertainment. My initial reaction was one of offense: the Big Bad Black Lady is suffocating her? She doesn't even know me, really. I shudder to think what her subconscious does with my existence. I responded to her, assuring her that there was really only one person I was violent toward & it was all in jest...that I get as good as I give, so she needed not worry. I question why she saw fit to tell me of this dream of hers & what I was supposed to do with the information. It's very unsettling to me but all I can think to do is let it go.

I need to get ready for work. My goal is to only do 8 hours today. That's why I'm blogging at 8am. I must arrive at 9a & not a minute earlier. I must leave no later than 6p, 5:30p at the earliest.