vers le haut ou vers le bas – à la fois


Four Loko (aka – and other really bad ideas)

Okay – maybe it means that I am getting better or worse – but a bit of lighter reading this time around folks.

  • Did you know that (especially when you are depressed & already prone to insomnia) mixing depressants and stimulants is a really bad idea?

I pretty much did already.  So not going to lie right now.  I am a woman of exceptional IQ – as evidenced by my ability to even type right now – and professional occupation with very bad personal habits.  I do not eat, I do not sleep, & I have been medicated by necessity for crazy chronic pain issues for – oh 14 years now.  We are talking major broken bones of the back variety – no playing games.  This is when my grandmother hasn’t finally died of her own suffering and my mother hasn’t died suddenly – shockingly – and completely… yea.

So… that said, I have really not been sleeping lately.  Medication has gone up on Dr.s orders bc of current events.  I do drink.  Maybe this is a good sign, because as I walked into my kitchen at midnight to make a drink – which I am still drinking which says a certain degree about how good of a sign it can be – I realized that part of my problem is possibly that I drink prob 2 pots of Cuban -> Turkish roast coffee with about two shots of rum per cup.  SO a 12 cup pot – which is really 6 cups – maybe I only go through 1 or 1.5 pots a day.  Still.

  • Answer to above ?  Everybody.  They have made the selling of drinks in the US with alcohol and caffeine illegal.  Many bars no longer sell vodka/red bull for the same reason after litigation.  Yet here I am at midnight watching my roku (I refuse to do cable tv when most of what I watch isn’t even aired in the US) and drinking something that is really stupid.  Is it good that I realize that… don’t know.  The hubby goes back to work tomorrow.  Some day I must resume life as I know it.  My grandmother’s services are this coming weekend and siblings are butting into mother’s affairs when they never bothered to care whether she lived or died in life (smelling grammy’s money asks the cynic – why yes).  Perhaps key in all of this is instead of waxing morose of philosophic and cushioning myself in complete indulgent numbness – a thaw is coming.

Bloody hell.  I am not going to enjoy what is to come, but it must.  I also must pop off to the store come tomorrow to get something else to drink with my rum and some curry ingredients because I would sell my soul for some and there is not ONE Indian place in this entire <b>county</b>.


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