So you may have noticed that there's been a drop in posts around here lately. Or maybe you haven't noticed and I should just get over myself already.
Anyway...it's been hard for me to find anything interesting to write about. Sure, stuff's been going on and such. Even have some pictures but I just couldn't think of what to say that you might consider reading.
See, I've been taking what I call "Happy Pills." They help with my post-pardum freak-outs, keep my chronic shoulder pain at a low level and just generally make going through each day tolerable. But it was just tolerable. It wasn't wonderful. In fact, there are some not-so-great side effects that come with these pills. When I was taking them after having the Boy, the side effects were at a minimum and seemed worth it. This time around, the effects are worse. MUCH worse. And really, you don't want to know the details...at least my parents don't want to know and they read my blog. (Okay, well, some of you might want to know the details...you can email me...)
For one thing, I wasn't having any dreams. Normally, I have incredibly vivid dreams and get amazing ideas from them. But not lately. Also, my imagination was pretty much dead. The other day, I couldn't think of any good comebacks for something the Man said that left himself completely wide open. I had nothing. That is so not like me. And? I wasn't writing anything. I write constantly.
So I stopped taking the pills. I slowly weened myself off them and now I'm back to taking only vitamins and the occasional Tylenol. And I couldn't be happier. Sure, anytime I hear someone whispering, I think they're talking about me. And sure, I still think that every knock at the door is a potential serial killer, but I feel more like myself.
I'm having dreams again. And they are beautiful.
I am writing. And that makes me happy.
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