Medication

Switching to a Google + account has apparently screwed up my blog. Thanks Google and Blogger...no, I don't want to sign in on Google...every day it's something.

Of course, it has nothing to do with waking at 2:30 am. After all, the cats are awake at that hour...

But I really wanted to talk about my meds today...do you like your medicines? I am taking a new one, that apparently works...I don't feel paranoid anymore. I don't feel anything anymore. And I eat. Who thought this was a good idea? And, as always, there are X rated effects, but all the meds have that. It's like really wishing to see unicorns because you believe so much to hope that, one day, crazy meds won't have any effect on our sex drive.

But yes, the decision is now, emotions or not? Sex drive or not is not a question. You give up all hope of that the day after you are diagnosed. And this seems a good point to weigh into the non-debate about a "mental health registry." Oh, you mean keep an eye on the people who bother to go to a doctor, despite the expense and trouble and stigma, and get diagnosed? Or the ones who actually take their meds? Did anyone see any previous diagnosis on the Sandy Hook killer? Oh, wait, maybe you want to register disenfranchised, white, male teenagers who mothers are gun advocates? That last list I would go for.

Why? Because the sad FACT is: all these multiple, assault rifle killers are young, white men. Who has the most power in the country? Older white men. It's what they don't want to look at. There is a corollary.

Enough already. I don't want to blow a gasket, but Newtown is passing us by, and soon, more than nothing will be done.

So, new topic: I love these early mornings watching the dog snore, and the unicorn meat eating cats park themselves near the blower on the bottom of the computer. I have moved my electric heater so Georgia is not stuck in a cold corner on a fake sheepskin, which is now sprinkled with catnip. Apparently, I have an unending need for quiet time, me time. Either that, or I just love sitting in bed drinking coffee and smoking my head off.

I love less, the unseasonal weather coming our way. Balmy weather in winter is nothing to rejoice in, in my view. I want the flea eggs dead, dead, and dead. I don't want to have to buy flea protection in January. I don't want to have to wash my bedsheets and vacuum every freaking single day, like I did last summer, because we had a mild winter before that. I am not attached to housework as all that.

Ah, well. What else is there to talk about at 5 am besides some rambling blitherings?