cimorene

i love the periwinkle hour, at around 11:30, when the sky has turned much more intensely blue but the trees are still lit with the sunlight--dim, but not cast over in blue yet.

okay, so, now is where i admit i was wrong about the paxil. i wasn't just so thoroughly constantly happy that i might as well drop it because it didn't do anything. that doesn't matter--i couldn't write while on it, and the fact that it killed my writing drive is evidence of more psychoactiveness than i'm comfortable with even if i didn't want to be able to write. which i do.

which is where we come to how i'm still not--although for a few weeks i was, and i produced high rent and nothing to say and about a novella's worth more of coffee!gary oldman and tim roth with

perhael.

anyway, i seem to have sunk through the excessive happiness, and for three weeks i was feeling enough of the pain of the world, as it were, to write again. or four or five weeks. and then i sort of punched right through the bottom of that and now i'm apparently too depressed to write. maybe it's not that. i hope it isn't.

the too-much-influenced-by-freud iatrist who first put me on prozac (which didn't work but that wasn't his fault, really) used to talk about anti-depressants, and what they do, as "turning down the emotional thermostat". not taking away the angst, just... moving the baseline. you still feel everything. you just feel it less. that idea should always have been disturbing, probably.

remember yesterday i talked about a freakout. well, i'm still assimilating that. and i'm reading due south fic by speranza to cheer myself up. it's working pretty well.