Warning: Language used.

It's decision time in my world again. It's been awhile now creeping up. In the most sensible manner I could muster (which is big leap for me, Ms. Out-Of-Her-Tiny-Mind) I've been trying to analyse it, to probe at it, to make sure that it's not what I think it is.


It's tender and it hurts. It's lurking and getting darker. I again I have a choice. To deal with it in the best way I can and try to get over it. Ride out the rough patch. I could probably do it. I may not have managed before but there have been victories, there have been times when it's all be good and clean and really good. So I know I don't need the shit that they try and push on me. The only drugs I want they won't give me anyway. Even though it would be a damm fine idea.

But then you know there is the easy route. So easy all I have to do is book an appointment and make sure my hair looks really wild and my complexion looks like the bottom of a chip fryer in Brixton and I'm sorted. Good bye everything, goodbye 'ouch' spot, goodbye fucking weird dreams (good bye all dreams), good bye irrationality and goodbye paranoia. I know a few people who would directly benefit form me being on meds again.

But I also know that I'm not gonna get fuck all done whilst I'm on them, the idea of freezing my life in spot for as long as I want to, or as long as the doctors keep handing me repeat prescriptions, is pretty bloody tempting. It would be great to be able to freeze just at the point I was falling in love, or just at the point when I knew that I was almost happy. It would be fucking brilliant to be able to stay in that stasis for awhile. But the NHS, the bastards, they only seem to want know me when I'm tired and stressed and rather fed up of the whole thing. So all the only states I ever get to be kept in are 'pissed off' and 'fucking pissed off'.

Anyway, so now I've poured angst all over my keyboard and enlightened you with all sorts of things about me that mean fuck all to anyone else, rambled for awhile without a point and wasted time, energy and words, lots of words, that I could be using to write my NaNoWriMo masterpiece, do I feel any better? Have I reached any grand conclusion?

Yeah, I have. My conclusion is that I need to drink more and whine less and probably stop wasting company time on shit like this.

Fuck angst. Fuck meds. Anyway I'm only complaining because I'm cold and bored and got about five minutes sleep this week. So to make this worth your time here's a joke...

How do you make a bear cross?
Nail two together.