Water soluble beverage powder.

This medication was prescribed because it will help me. It'll help improve the quality of my sleep so that I don't feel awful during the day. It'll help me start feeling pretty good again. It'll help me feel better, not that I feel particularly terrible. I've had it for, oh, a couple of weeks at this point yet I haven't taken any of it. Why haven't I taken it? Because I am a self-saboteur. Because I don't take care of myself. Because I'm afraid it makes me weak. Because I'm afraid it'll become a crutch. Because I'm afraid of medication in general.

No, because one of the side effects is possibly wetting the bed. I don't want to piss all over my bed during the night. I feel like that won't really improve the quality of my sleep.

It's just apprehension, really. And I've already been set straight on this whole business, which is why I now find myself staring down two doses of this stuff and setting an alarm. It's an experiment that I don't really want to take. Side effects include depression, and the last thing I want is to deal with that. I don't have the time or energy to be depressed. I guess I'm just deflecting because I'm afraid it won't actually work, and I'll go back to where I am now.

Maybe the depression comes from pissing the bed.

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April 13, 2010 at 6:53 AM

No, Holmes, no!

All I ever think about these days is how much I have to/want to study. I hope that's not how I have a good time, now. Would I rather go hang out with peeps or would I rather sit in and study? It is a difficult question to answer. Just a couple more days and then I can focus all my energy on the next greatest idea I've ever had: iconic detectives and sharks.

I wonder, sometimes.

I am standing on the edge of a cliff face. A breeze whips past me as I stare out into the darkness. It's a familiar sight, comforting. The river bends below me. It stretches out, away from me at both ends. The arch of the bridge traverses the river, silhouetted by the house lights and golf course below us. So far away from us. The highway reaches out before us, straight into the hills and disappears on the horizon. It is silent. There are no cars. No planes. No animals. It is just us standing on top of the cliff. As it should be. It's late. A late weeknight. Just a normal Tuesday night to the world. I step away from the edge. In 5 minutes, I will be 22 years old. It's a turning point in my life. A fixed checkpoint. I'm only 21 years old, I'm not an actual adult yet. Maybe legally. But I'm still a child. I'm immature, I laugh at fart jokes. I laugh at everything. Why would I take anything seriously? 21 years old and we still have no responsibilities. We c...

Side effects include constant irritability, being an ass.

It was a typical day in MUS 307 . A typical day where nobody pays attention to anything the professor talks about. A day where people play shitty flash games instead of take notes. A day where people sit and refresh their Facebook newsfeed instead of follow the slides. A day where people roll their eyes and go to sleep instead of listen to the music examples. A day where people get up and leave ten minutes before lecture ends instead of having the God damn decency to stay the whole time and pretend to be interested. I mean, if you're going to be so unaffected by the music we're studying in class then why the fuck did you take the class in the first place? Fuck it makes me mad. And I haven't even started talking about that fucker who sits in the back and tries to whistle along with every song that gets played in class. Alright, dude, we get it: you are just too cool and you know everything about jazz, ever. You know every standard ever written and everybody's so...

everything is fine

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