  Good morning, Its unfortunate the only time I feel awake in the morning is when I�m looking at the wrong end of it. Went to the doctor, told him about the stupid symptoms I had. He was very sympathetic, didn�t tell me anything useful except why taking tryptophan at this juncture wouldn�t be the best idea; and he gave me more Prozac.
I went home; fell asleep (ASLEEP!!! Thank you, God) at 11 or so. Woke up at three, and here were are, 5.29am. Kurt has a weird staph infection, and I�m hoping I won�t be pooping green and yearning to vomit on Sunday. Sunday is Flea Market Day. This is when Kurt and I get to experience the flea market culture, rife with ten thousand year old ladies selling ten thousand year old lace doilies.
At least twice during this period a guy will tell me how he�s going to sue the company I�m working for, because of some misunderstanding (usually on the guy�s behalf. ) I use my conflict management training, and sit there, speaking softly, while these retards spew spittle over me in an attempt to illuminate why me selling satellites for this company is, in fact, an evil thing.
Why these guys feel the need to expouse their problems that occurred three years ago with me, a person that can�t do anything for them, doesn�t care, and had nothing to do with their unfortunate situation is beyond me. I�m polite, but at the same time, I can feel the burning in my cheeks, and the need to freak out at them. Especially when his yelling (why is it always a guy? ) draws the attention of a few locals. I hate drawing attention to myself, especially when some one else draws attention for me.
These freaks are few and far between. The other sellers in the place are interested to know how you�re doing; they�re genuinely concerned and curious about you. They�re also extremely friendly, something I take great comfort in at 7am. I�ve got to stop researching the drugs I�m on. Everything I find makes them look scarier and scarier, I want to run into the woods and never see a doctor again.
There�s always some horrible trade-off, leastwise, for me; like take an anti-depressant to alleviate depressive symptoms (you know, to protect yourself from your own urges to kill yourself), and throw your circadian rhythm out the window, enjoy the shakes and paranoia as a result. What�s worse, the control or the disease? I don�t think it matters, as my choices are limited. I will not willingly become suicidal again. I almost destroyed my family, a lot of my friendships, and my extended family looks on me as lazy and weak (They�re old school; they keep telling me to get off the dope.
) I met a girl with similar problems on playsite.com; she said her major thing to deal with is that she knows she�s not going to be a fully functioning member of society. She�s never been able to keep a job longer than six months. This is an echo of me; I�ve never been able to hack working more than 4 months at a time, it takes too much out of me, and when I do a drug changeover, I�m usually out of commission for a few months.
It�s hard not to feel lazy and useless. I do have a lot of things to be thankful for, my parents and my sister don�t always get how I�m feeling all the time (who does? ) but they seem to have an infinite amount of understanding, and love for me. Kurt, well, Kurt�s amazing.
He�s doing great in school, he�s always got a kind word or an ass-kicking for me. I�m not sure where I�d be at without him. I love them all so much. The animals that have chosen to spend some time with us are awesome. Lucas, my pride and joy, never leaves my side, even if he has to pee, he�ll hold it. Cordy hangs out with me when I�m waiting for some sort of bodily eruption in the bathroom, and the cats take turns licking my eyelids as I fall asleep. Enough rambling. Time to stare at my ceiling, and hope for sleep. 
