Random - swearing, Sprout, submitting, and Celexa

Stupid, sucky situation
I was halfway done with a post when I got a phone call detailing a situation I found really upsetting. On the big, the-academic-world-rather-sucks level. But providing details would not only be inappropriate, but would involve more water animals than even I know and love. But there was much profanity (from me) and some disagreement on what was right and I’m all irritated now. I see myself on a playground, watching everyone playing inappropriately, then stomping off, folding my arms and pouting while I tell the teacher supervising recess that “I’m not playing anymore! People are mean! And stupid. So there.”

Poor, little Sprout
In other news, and in the absence of focus to complete the post I started, Sprout is soon going to be without food and water in preparation for his procedure tomorrow. So off to the vet he will go, because animals in my family aren’t allowed to reproduce. I’m worried about him, which actually reassures me. I do fret about creatures I love, so the pretty kitty has worked his way into my heart. Oh, and Chienne has figured out where to lie in wait where the cat can’t see her from his normal “check the hallway before deciding to hide” position. She almost got him today – sneaky dog.

Submit! Just approve and submit!
My paper is coming along – I’m going to try to read it (really, really try) one more time before that euphoric moment when I press the approve and submit button. It’s pretty good – I’m hopeful. Pride goeth before the fall though, so we’ll have to see what they think of my pretty revisions.

And Celexa
Oh, the pills. It should come as no surprise that I very much want to take them now. Not only out of fear of what I was when the depression got particularly overwhelming, but because I take to habits quite easily. I was out one night and realized I was really antsy to get home. As I started to say my goodbyes earlier than I had planned, I realized I normally took Celexa around 9PM. Once it gets later than that, I become preoccupied about having access to my tiny prescription bottle. While I know missing a day wouldn’t be that big a deal – and waiting a few hours is completely fine – I have a pretty strong attachment to swallowing that little pill. Trusting that it will provide some stability and allow me to continue to improve.

I’m uncomfortable with the degree I like taking it, though I know I needed it and it was a good idea to start the medication. I haven’t had a migraine since starting, which is a delightful benefit. Nor have I suffered even mild side effects (of which I’m aware, anyway). I don’t feel flat – I just got quite passionate about a situation which affects me in no way whatsoever. I still feel sad sometimes, but it’s not the hopeless despair that so alarmed me before. I don’t hang out on my bathroom floor. I’m sleeping better, though it’s still not great. (When people ask me what I’d ask if given three wishes, the ability to sleep well is always one of them. Selfish? Of course. I don’t care. I would be a much better person if I could get some rest with some regularity and ease.)

The point – and I bring it up because I had a great deal of illogical resistance to taking anything – is that I’m glad I started. I needed the help and it gave me comfort to know I was trying something to improve. I am perhaps overly fond of that comfort and hope that eventually I’m less attached to having access to the medication.

I think that’s all I can write. I’m getting sleepy and the goal really is to submit the paper this evening. It’s not good to do that without a final reading, so I need to go through the paper one last (tired) time.