That makes no sense, but lack of consistent sleep makes me unimaginative and The Office-esque because of my penchant for misnomers. Because of this, I'm willing to settle for middling everything. There are limits, of course. I emphatically won't watch something as trite and dumb as Two and a Half Men. God I hate that show... What's more, I'm more willing to act brusquely or to curse copiously, which I do anyway. The problem is that my frustration has reached a point of super-saturation. Anything minor can set me off--sort of. Like I've said, I'm lazy by nature and this only excuses it.
When I was in the hospital, the nurses gave me Ambien, which did nothing for me. I might as well have taken a sugar pill, or some other placebo, because I was still up past 5 AM. My doctors settled on Restoril, which sounds like the drug manufacturers tried to think of a juicy name, but then gave up. Restoril worked, I guess, but turned me into a zombie the next day. It's been a while, so I can't detail exactly how it fucked me up, but I remember telling myself not to take it again.
Now, I've reached the end of my rope with regard to this shit. Nothing exciting happens at 5 AM, so the world should be thankful it's unconscious. For the rest of the day, my energy level, which is already low, is indistinct. My reluctance to get out of bed sounds like a telltale sign of depression, but it's not. This conjecture becomes irrelevant so early/late in the day. I can't do a goddamn thing.
Writing even becomes more arduous than usual. It was never a pleasant walk in the park to begin with, and I always viewed it like exercise--a necessary evil. Now, it's an extraneous absurdity. I still do it, obviously, but I'd rather not. In fact, now I insist, like a drug addict or alcoholic, that I can stop at any time. And I can.
See?
R
