So, I was staying the night on Friday night at Nameless' house, watching the menagerie. Nameless was in Dallas, and since I pay child support for most of these animals it only makes sense that I'd be the one to watch them.
Saturday morning I woke up and took my medicines. I vaguely noticed that the pills were still in the daily pill dispenser for Wednesday, Thursday and Friday and I thought that that would make it much easier to fill it up for the next week.
As the morning went on I began to be very angry at being there. I decided that it was probably just too soon after moving out for me to be spending time there. I was angry at everything he ever said or did to piss me off. I decided that I needed to head home, so I spent some times petting the cats and the dog, fed the whole crew and the feral colony on the front porch and headed out. Nameless had asked me if I'd give the dog a bath, but I decided that I could do it another time. I needed a cup of coffee and the Philistine doesn't even have a coffee maker in the house, much less cream.
As I was driving out of town I thought about filling up the car, but I was in too foul a mood to stop. Even at my favorite gas station on the corner of Main Street that sells the perfect Dr. Pepper. When I began to cry I had to really ask myself what the f***ing hell was wrong with me. How could I be so angry and so hurt about something that happened over a year ago and how could it still affect me so much? Then I started going over the morning's activities in my mind and I focused in on the pill dispenser. Like water running down the side of an overflowing glass it occurred to me that if the pills were still in the slots for Wednesday, Thursday and Friday, then I didn't take them on those days. This dripped into my consciousness slowly.
I've mentioned before which medicines I take; I won't go too deeply into it here. But, I did mention the anti-bitch medication that I take, and one thing about this kind of medication is that there is a certain level of dependence that develops. What I mean is that when a person stops taking them there is a withdrawal, beyond the recurrence of the bitchiness the diagnosis of which was the cause of the prescription in the first place. In other words, I was turning back into a bitch, but this time an irrational bitch going through withdrawal. (This doesn't even address the possible adverse effects of not taking the other medication, which is mostly the source of the bitch symptoms.)
I kept myself busy yesterday; I nursed a coffee at Starbucks. I went grocery shopping. I made a marinara sauce and invited a friend over who is going through a particularly difficult time (a legitimate one). I invited Nameless and was surprised when he decided to come. I mean, driving 3 hours back from Dallas, then to drive another 30 miles for dinner is more than I expected. Not that I wasn't glad to see him. We actually had a lovely time and laughed and I felt better and hopefully my friend felt better.
Then today I slept until 1pm. 12:30, really, but I didn't get up and about until 1. I actually got up before 7am and took my pills, fed the cats their moist treats and then went back to bed. What's strange is that I picked up with the dream I was having right where it left off. It was a kind of mystery novel and it was probably brought on by the book of Victorian ghost stories I'm reading, but it was actually kind of fascinating.
I didn't get better until this evening when I met with some other friends and had a couple of beers. If I had known that drinking would actually make me feel better I would have done so much earlier in the day. (I had a couple of glasses of wine last night.) But, most of today was a fog, and I feel like I didn't get the day off and now I have to go back to work tomorrow and it's not fair, really.
But, it will teach me a lesson about cleaning, because when I cleaned my bathroom last I put the pill dispenser in a drawer, which is why I forgot to take them. Out of sight out of mind. I feel like perhaps I shouldn't clean any more again. Ever.
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