Well, sort of.
Sorry I’ve not been posting on a regular basis, not that I was anywhere near regular, except when I failed at the whole Post-A-Day Challenge last year. (If your are masochistic, look through the archives and read some of those posts. Just have a bucket nearby to puke in).
In any event, as you can see from the cheery opening, things are pretty much the same round here. I am still working, still writing my novel (it’s a steaming turd missile), and still trying to get back into school.
Ideas for posts hit me at odd moments when I’m at work. The other day, I got a brilliant idea for a post, went inside (I was taking out the garbage at the time) to look for a piece of paper to write it down when I was waylaid by people who have no real interest in me beyond my ability to lift and move things for them.
Seriously, can no one do their own damn jobs anymore? *sigh* (This is a rhetorical question, by the way. I don’t need to see a huge, long-winded response blaming all America’s woes on poor people, thanks).
Despite that, things are mostly okay. Therapy is . . . . helping, but not nearly as much as getting on the right meds. And I’m not talking about antidepressants or meds to help my concentration, either. But, of course, I cannot get those meds, since there are numerous hoops that I need to jump through like a trained monkey to get them. The upswing to that is they are on the $4 list at Wal-Mart, so, should I be allowed to get them, it won’t cost a lot.
If I could get them, then I don’t think I would need as much wellbutrin or lamictil.
But enough about all that.
Normally, I’d be blogging about politics, but, what could I add to the cacophony of noise that would make a difference? Not much, I’d say. Just another opinion in a sea of opinions, and this one not even remotely interesting, since so many people take such pains to tell me how wrong I am about things.
I live. I breathe. I am (sort of) alive. Just existing instead of living. Can that truly be called “alive?”