Adjusting to mornings continues to happen/not happen at a super-crawl. I was wondering this morning if it is harder ’cause it’s only an hour shift; I found making the three hour shift from noon to nine tolerable. Granted, I also wasn’t medicated then, not that I can say yay or nay to if that has any blame in the current adjustment phase.
The courtesy copy letter about my last appointment showed up a few days ago. Whenever my psychiatrist updates my GP, there’s a letter. I’m guessing that’s a common thing, but I wouldn’t know either. It made me smile to see it there in text that I’m doing alright. Yes, there’s still some low grade depression, but it’s tolerable and muted, and is more likely than not to be related to my physical condition than my mental condition. It makes me happy that I’ve got my plan of action laid out — another pregnancy if possible, and then a hysterectomy. Oh sure, the best laid plans of mice and men, but I can’t see why (at least) the latter won’t be able to happen. I will have to make sure to stress how huge a quality of life issue it is. Because of the they-won’t-diagnose-the-damned-thing endometriosis, I’ve returned to a state akin to chronic fatigue. As I said to a kinnie in Lord of the Rings Online yesterday — I did dishes and folded laundry. That made yesterday a resounding victory. I don’t think it’s wrong of me to want slightly more, especially since I’m very positive there’s that actual solution.
I guess that’s about it for the moment. My brain continues to stay blissfully blank-esque. It might make writing harder to do, but hell… it sure beats jagged abusive thoughts pounding me.