Grr.

So last night was another one of those nights where I don't sleep a wink, obsessing over everything from my finances to Mummers to my brother. And yes, I took pills; they stopped working at least a month ago. I won't take sleeping pills, but I did take clonazepam, and I at least stopped crying. This is how it goes every night.

Did I tell you that I'd been put on blood pressure meds? Well, when Mom was being murdered, I was (I know; shocking). Well, on Sunday, as I was trying to get stuff written, my lip swelled up like a collagen injection nightmare. I could breathe okay, but took 50mg Benadryl just in case. I tried to keep working, but my lip was getting so big that I was looking like Bubba, from Forrest Gump. So I raced to a walk-in clinic run by the hospital that murdered my mother (they have a monopoly here), and was diagnosed with an ACE inhibitor allergy and told to discontinue lisinopril immediately. So I did, and...::drum roll::...my blood pressure is normal. Still. Word to the wise, don't just jump on blood pressure meds after one or two readings, especially if you have major stress in your life. That shit can kill you if you 1) don't need it or 2) are allergic. Just sayin'.

Now I am debating what to do...writing, nap, or...well, those are really my only choices. I have today off from Eviljob, so I'm leaning towards a nap first. I am really having trouble regulating my sleep, but I won't take sleeping pills, ever. They don't help. And they almost killed Mom in the rehab centre.

I have just one small portion to finish on this one project, but it always seems insurmountable at that stage, you know? I'm hoping I can muster up some of that despair that keeps me up at night after an hour of sleep. And I don't write past about one a.m.; I do try to gear down and all, but I turn off the lights and no matter how tired I am, my brain kicks on. I honestly get on my iPod and do stuff just to not feel so alone. Maybe I'll start taking melatonin.

Okay...work or sleep time, followed by sleep or work time. Sigh.

And I haven't even told you about what needless stress This Guy is being. On Sunday, as I'm freaking out over deadlines and my lip, his car died cos he didn't change the timing belt. To me, that counts as a personal oops. Learn better next time. But he phones me as if I am supposed to do anything about it, so I just played Stupid Girl and didn't help him fix it -- no tow, nothing. He's a big boy, older than me, and needs to clean up his own messes, and I refuse to get sucked into his drama. No one rescues me, for fuck's sake.

Anyway, so I am a shitty person. And I don't care.





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