I like the reciprocity of these doves on my empty, English (and family) Blue Willow china patern plate:
My father (in Huntsville, Alabama) who is being especially attentive this Christmastime called this evening at eight, right as my medicine beeper was going off. I told him I was kind of weak because I hadn't really been eating for a week, (truly minimally), [I didn't say what triggered that - which I also haven't written about yet here, although it's been referred to in comments sections].
My father, not usually so rational for a research scientist, advised food first. So I walked relunctancty to the cheerful little clay-tiled Market past the dazzling Christmas tree above the portico of the Ritz Carlton, in slightly drizzling, chilling rain to buy a macaroni and cheese lean cuisine, diet cokes, nonfat milk, and some baked pita chips (which I'm still working on, incrementally). Just the pita chips and the diet cokes, though.
But I made it back to my much more ordered, and empty-feeling apartment than usual - in time to take my bedtime meds exactly one hour late, at nine, which means I should have fallen asleep at ten. This is pissing me off because although there were/are extenuating circumstances at the moment (I'll give myself a week), I am trying really hard to do everything right. I already took a Valium (optional), and now I'm going to take another Ambien (allowed if necessary). We (all who know me) agree I have to sleep regularly, or it all goes to Hell, but this is exactly the pattern that led to my (unintentional) OD on the Geodon.
I see my psychiatrist, thankfully, at noon tomorrow (maybe I'll even get a December transit stamp on the way, although it seems a little late for the month, again). When this unmentioned "event" is overwith (a big hurdle today), maybe it'll be easy - the eating and sleeping, but the challenges that undermine my health are challenges no more stressful than most people deal with every single day of their work lives, and then often have family stresses as well. It's hard not to get mad when I'm doing well - and I did for the most part handle today very well - not exactly as I would have liked, if I would have prepared a little better, but I did a good job. And it was a real job, for real money, although we both forgot the release form. So he emailed it to me to print, sign, and mail - as if I have a functional printer, so I'll take my laptop via the transit booth, and psychiatrist (without telling him about any of this), to Kinkos, and hopefully there will not be a single glitch in printing out the attachment, or the original contract sent to me a week ago that I swept off into a corner of my head. And then I can work on the actual editing additions - but that may not even be stressful if it's like writing here. The pressure is in condensing what's most important to me - that's acceptable to them, in as concise a little business-as-usual-for-them opportunity as possible. But maybe I will enjoy that part. Like this. But it is 11:49. I'm taking another Ambien (not allowed thrice).
At least, thanks to my father's call, I will have milk for coffee in the morning. Because I WILL get up at 8 like normal people who do things besides go to doctors' and vet appointments.