Dear Readers, things are slowly improving. (Though, as my mother has just left after spending 24 of the last 31 days here, we may descend into savagery.) Now I'm only anxious about normal things, like paying medical bills! The baby sleeps some, and I sleep some, and once a week if I kick everyone else out of the house I can take a nap!
(It turns out that the maximum dose of bupropion gives me an unfortunate electric-shock-ZING feeling in the brain, plus hyperalertness. Yeah, that didn't help with the hormonally-insane-insomnia. Choosing psychoactive drugs: like playing darts blind.)
I am a little resentful about the additional... discipline, I suppose... required by all this. No caffeine. No alcohol. I must exercise every day, and also take a walk in the sun. No screens before bed. Go to bed at this time exactly. Don't do this, don't do that, and maybe everything will stay in equilibrium. On top of all the ongoing food allergy thing (which has improved some - now many foods just make me slightly ill!) it makes me feel like a petulant three-year-old.
I console myself by saying that surely one of these years, I can go out and have an espresso and a martini.
Surely, surely, one of these years. It sounds so hard, Jenny. SO HARD. It's like, for all the effort you have to expend, you should be magnificently healthy, like the cover of a yoga magazine, and instead you're just suffering a little less. I'm sorry. I hope savagery headed for the house next door.
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