The sixth day of no Effexor!
Okay, yeah. It was the meds all right. My productivity is through the fucking ROOF. Finishing up stuff that should have been finished awhile back, hammering out new art, whipping off quick illos…dude. I hope like hell this is the normal setting, and not just a kind of deranged art mania. (It seems like it must have a good chance of being normal–I used to pump out two or three paintings a week in my prime, with occasional pre-convention psychotic painting jags of four or five pieces a day, so here’s hoping.)
Plus I got up when the alarm went off, didn’t attempt to haggle with the sleep gods past one smack of the snooze, just got up, flipped on the radio, and made tea. Good lord.
On the argument for mania side, I HAVE been spontaneously dancing through the apartment, much to the alarm of the cats. This would not be abnormal, except that I’m listening to NPR’s weekly news round-up, and I’m not sure if normal people boogie down to Diane Rheims. Still. I could just be weird that way.
Still getting the head zaps, but they seem to be lessening somewhat. No more unexplained spontaneous orgasms.* Plus I have really cool fingerless hand warmers now, which are keeping my poor freezing hands somewhat less freezing, even if they do make me look kind of like a goth hobo.
Life is good.
*I am torn between relief and mild chagrin on that one, I admit.
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