by the numbers
The last entry had more tags than writing, I'm afraid. But it should not be surprising.
A few important things I wanted to note but forgot to mention:
(1) Therapy this morning was okay. It became apparent how angry and bitter I am, but that it may just be a passing phase. In any event, she kept suggesting that I talk to my psychiatrist and that I email her to keep her informed of my mood. I see her next week.
(2) After the appointment, I came home and eventually found myself laying in bed. I did this for 4 hours, only getting up because I kept waking up anyways with these awful dreams and then because hydration is an issue. Since the surgery, I always wake up feeling really fucking thirsty and dehydrated. I'm actually surprised I sleep through the night.
(3) In terms of sleep, I know there is something truly wrong with me. My sleep is shallow and not always very restive. The seroquel helps me stay in bed and be "asleep" --but again, it is not the quality sleep.
(4) These bad dreams I experience are not new. In fact, a bit of reflection on it indicates that they have been there for a while. Some cursory reading has me believing that the manic episode from earlier this year may not be over, actually. It could be that I am in a mixed state and shifting toward a depressed state.
(5) As far as the specific dreams of today, they were about my high school history teacher. We became friends the year after I had him and continued to interact until he died in 2006. I never really knew how sick he was until it was too late. Art is definitely one of the main influences in my life in terms of studying European History and pursuing this teaching thing. I wish I had paid more attention, that I had asked more questions, that I actually wrote some of what he said down. He was a truly fascinating man.
(6)Art's death came at a particularly strange time. Until that point, his class was the most difficult, most demanding, and most rewarding course I had ever taken in my life. When he died in March of 2006, I was finishing up the class that blew his out of the water, Syntax I. To date, it is still the most difficult, demanding, and rewarding course I have ever taken. I never grew close to that professor (although we were facebook friends at one point; I unfriended her and she never refriended me), but the class was one of the most important. It was the 4th linguistics course I had taken and I should have seriously considered switching to Language Studies then or abandoning the dream, but I kept at it. Incidentally, Syntax II was what kept me from getting the Linguistics degree, and in yet another twist in life, it was with the same professor from Syntax I.
(7) Also, this is the "meat" of the entry:
Razors pain you; Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you; And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful; Nooses give;
Gas smells awful; You might as well live.
A short little ditty by Dorothy Parker and why I won't do it.
A few important things I wanted to note but forgot to mention:
(1) Therapy this morning was okay. It became apparent how angry and bitter I am, but that it may just be a passing phase. In any event, she kept suggesting that I talk to my psychiatrist and that I email her to keep her informed of my mood. I see her next week.
(2) After the appointment, I came home and eventually found myself laying in bed. I did this for 4 hours, only getting up because I kept waking up anyways with these awful dreams and then because hydration is an issue. Since the surgery, I always wake up feeling really fucking thirsty and dehydrated. I'm actually surprised I sleep through the night.
(3) In terms of sleep, I know there is something truly wrong with me. My sleep is shallow and not always very restive. The seroquel helps me stay in bed and be "asleep" --but again, it is not the quality sleep.
(4) These bad dreams I experience are not new. In fact, a bit of reflection on it indicates that they have been there for a while. Some cursory reading has me believing that the manic episode from earlier this year may not be over, actually. It could be that I am in a mixed state and shifting toward a depressed state.
(5) As far as the specific dreams of today, they were about my high school history teacher. We became friends the year after I had him and continued to interact until he died in 2006. I never really knew how sick he was until it was too late. Art is definitely one of the main influences in my life in terms of studying European History and pursuing this teaching thing. I wish I had paid more attention, that I had asked more questions, that I actually wrote some of what he said down. He was a truly fascinating man.
(6)Art's death came at a particularly strange time. Until that point, his class was the most difficult, most demanding, and most rewarding course I had ever taken in my life. When he died in March of 2006, I was finishing up the class that blew his out of the water, Syntax I. To date, it is still the most difficult, demanding, and rewarding course I have ever taken. I never grew close to that professor (although we were facebook friends at one point; I unfriended her and she never refriended me), but the class was one of the most important. It was the 4th linguistics course I had taken and I should have seriously considered switching to Language Studies then or abandoning the dream, but I kept at it. Incidentally, Syntax II was what kept me from getting the Linguistics degree, and in yet another twist in life, it was with the same professor from Syntax I.
(7) Also, this is the "meat" of the entry:
Razors pain you; Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you; And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful; Nooses give;
Gas smells awful; You might as well live.
A short little ditty by Dorothy Parker and why I won't do it.