First off, hello to people coming by for the first time, or perhaps the first time in a long time due to the revamp. I’ve been well chuffed with the positive feedback I’ve received, and not only ’cause it validated a bathroom epiphany. It’s mainly good because I feel that it better explains this blog, and my desire to share my life with bipolar to those who choose to come by and read (and perhaps, if I’m lucky, you’ll go and tell friends and share the sharing or something).
The reason the timing is so fortuitous is because, as irony demands, I’m starting this four-day weekend as sick as can be. My husband is the passing-on-the-germs culprit, but I don’t hold it against him. I would rather not be able to empathise with his illness of the past week and a half, but I guess I’m going to have to. It’s pretty bad; I’ve got the urge to crawl back into bed. That is not a common thing for me; me sick resembles me hale in that I’ll still pull myself up to my desk and pootle around online. Beds are only for sleeping for me (well, and that one other thing), so it takes a ridiculous level of puny to make me want to spend awake-ish time there.
I also started my slightly elevated dose of Seroquel last night. I laughed when I opened my bag from the pharmacy, as the three different values I needed were all different brands. I don’t really care as long as it’s the right medicine in the right dose in the right sort of releasing, but it amused me nonetheless. I can’t say at this juncture whether or not it’s particularly useful. The head cold, for one, and the newness of the mild increase for another. I’m still going to try to subscribe to optimism about it all, because it sure beats self-flagellation (as much as bipolar loves doing that, I’m busting my ass to pwn such reactions to things).
I think I will go try to find a beverage now, and see if I can get the room to stop spinning a bit.