Another very short post tonight - just to keep the blog turning over.
Terribly tired. I keep trying to get an early night, but that means having my shit together. Recently I'm in a state of chronic un-together shittedness. It's been a rough day at work - a minor run-in with my boss over precisely what we'd agreed as action on a file. For my sins I hadn't made a note of the discussion and so I didn't exactly emerge looking brilliant. Sigh. This morning's Pristiq did mean I didn't go off the psychological deep-end but this created an odd experience - expecting to fall into a pit of the blue devils and not actually doing it. The sensation was oddly disconcerting. As Dante said, "Questi non hanno speranza di morte", which was a frankly bizarre way to feel. Still, it also tells me something about myself: sometimes it actually has been easier for me to despair, when the really hard thing to do was keep slugging it out. Hmm. That'll give me something to think about!
OK, bedtime.
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