Where Have All the Flowers Gone?

A-- they died. We haven't had any RAIN!

Hello, world.  Yes, I'm still alive.  I've been meaning to get back to this, but haven't seemed to find the motivation, discipline, et al.  March through May were pretty rough, and I had to fight the desire to curl into a ball in my bed and not get out.  Then early June I calmed down, only to have a cluster kick in the last weekend of the month.  Still dealing with fallout there.  I stopped posting for many reasons, among them time management and then......   movement becomes difficult once entropy kicks in.

So what's new?  Many things.  To start I'll tell you that the sun and summer heat have done a number on me, but I'm still going.  God bless a/c and all the people who make it possible.  

---- transition----  can't think of a good segue.  Sorry  :p

I try to come up with witty titles to my blogs, the better to get your attention, my dears.  For some reason this song title came to mind.  Quickly followed by the smart ass response.  And then, I was trying to figure out a way link the title to a blog post.  And then a lot of ways to use the metaphor kicked in. 

ACK.  gotta pick just one, or else I'll never get off the computer. 

So, let's return to the original statement.  We haven't had any RAIN!  Too much rain sometimes gets me down, but usually that's not the case.  I really love rain.  The sights, the smells, the sounds.  The sound of rain relaxes me, and I rarely sleep better than when a storm rages outside.  Feeling the power of nature around me, connecting me to the energies of the planet, all the while knowing I'm safe in my bed.

MMMMMMM  :D  Some people don't care for storms.  So long as I'm not driving in them, I'm good.  It's rare for a storm to make me nervous, at least on my own behalf.

The hot, dry summer has been rough.  On animals, on crops.  I don't anticipate it getting much better, most of the country is in a drought.  And of course, on people.

Many people with MI are particularly sensitive to sun and heat, requiring us to take extra precautions.  Many of us are overweight for one, often as a direct result of psychiatric medication.  Larger bodies tend to have more trouble with heat.  Our medications are often photosensitive, making us more sensitive to sun exposure.  And our medications also make us more susceptible to heat.  

Summer sun, heat, medicine, heat, weight gain, sun ....  a lovely set of circumstances that circle and reinforce each other.  And while we are hardly the only medical population to face these challenges, it is a reality often overlooked by the 'average' individual.  Many acquaintances treat me as though I'm paranoid, fearful, and/or a hypochondriac due to how I regard summer sun and heat.  I wear sun screen and hat.  I rarely wear shorts outside to limit exposure.  I carry a sun umbrella, and even have a sun-shawl. *  But I KNOW from experience, that if I get too hot for too long, I get hypomanic.  In a way that I can't control, for days at a time.  I can't overcome it without extra medication.

And when I get manic, I get myself into trouble.  BIG time.  I'll regale you with those stories another time.  So far now, keep cool and be safe.  And please recognize, that sometimes a person's 'heat induced' frustration may be more serious than you know.  Try to encourage them to be cool, while you hang on to yours.

Blessings!

PP

*there is now sun-protective fabric available.  Some companies make clothes, with built in SPF of anywhere from 30 to 60.  You can also buy the fabric online and make your own.  

Love, Hate, and Modern Medicine

Today's blast from the past comes from June 2008.  Mere months before I relocated 180 miles away from my home town to start the next phase of my life.  Moral of today's story-- ALWAYS read the information given to you by the pharmacy.  Make sure you understand it, so you are able to make an informed decision about what's safe for you.  Don't be afraid to advocate for yourself.  You know your body, and doctors can make mistakes.



Gotta love the medical establishment.  Today is case in point as to why MDs either love or hate me.

Went to urgent care today because I need an antibiotic (will spare you details).  Been trying the holistic route and it hasn't been making much of a dent.  And my healer pretty much told me yesterday she wanted me to get a culture, so in I went.  I chose urgent care over my internist because
                  1-- I don't like him much, very brusque
                  2-- he's always hard to get into,
                  3-- he's always running late, and
                  4-- when Papa saw him this AM for a 10:00 appointment, he
                       was already running over an hour behind.

So I went to the clinic and got right in.  Lovely, fun RN took my history.  But the MD, I don't think he really looked at my chart, or at least not in depth.  I say this because as he was walking into the exam room the nurse verbally told him that I'm allergic to sulfa drugs-------------- something that he should have seen on the chart.  Sulfa is the drug of choice for what I have going on, and he still tried to prescribe it.  So he wasn't paying the best attention.

The doc prescribed Cippro, really bringing out the big guns.  I've never had it before, but do take Levaquin on occasion and it works well for me.  Picking up the script at the pharmacy I started reading the paper insert which said, among other things, the following:

                    --- please inform your doctor if you experience............. mood changes, weakness in limbs, dizziness...................  in extreme cases has been known to induce mania.............. do not take if you have a history of neurological problems [or] have taken and anti-seizure medication within the past year.................. may cause mild to extreme sun sensitivity.........

Yeah, SO not taking that.

so back to urgent care I went.  Now convinced he didn't look at my chart at ALL.  Just what exactly are Lexapro and Lamictal? ** [DUH]

Talked to the nurse and told her I wanted Levaquin, she was doubtful but said she'd talk to the MD.  To shorten the tale, I actually had the MD sit down with a PDR [Physicians Desk Reference] while there were no other patients there waiting to be seen.  He seemed amused by me wanting to look at the data as opposed to offended-- good sign.  Levaquin is the same family as Cippro, but the potential side effects are much lower.  And no drug interaction danger.  Plus, I've taken it several times before without difficulty.

So, maybe I need to give my internist a break.  He doesn't make accidental errors like that.  In fact, he doesn't give me ANYTHING without first consulting his PDR on PDA.  He knows he doesn't know jack about psychotropics.

6 of one, half a dozen the other.  Despite the inconvenience of going back, I was still done in at least half the time if I'd gotten in to see my regular doc today.  And, free medical care from the good sisters is nothing to complain about.  Sort of ;)  ***

**  medical lesson for the day.  Lexapro is an SSRI, a class of antidepressant.  Thus, looking for mood contraindications is important.  Lamictal is an anti-seizure, anti-manic medication.  Insert said not to take if you have a history of neurological problems.  Technically, MI is classified under neurology.  And Lamictal IS an anti-seizure. 

*** my home area has a Catholic run hospital.  The good sisters do not require a medical co-pay for people on public aid.

Spring Fever!!

Evening everyone!

I can't speak for you, but I caught spring fever last week.  What does that mean?  Well for ME it means that I had a LOT of extra energy.  It happens every year.  The planet rejuvenates, the birds sing, and my ass is awake anywhere between 4 and 5:30 am.

And more often than not NOTHING gets me back to sleep.

I've come to expect this annual semi-hypomanic state (awful phrasing I know, but accurate for my symptoms) and learned to adjust accordingly.  Friends and family notice it, and I often enjoy it.  By 'it' I don't mean the hypo-mania* as much as the reawakening of the earth.  It's truly something I adore.  The sights and smells.  The grass renewing so I can enjoy walking barefoot on it.  The thunderstorms . . .

Spring is my time.  I enjoy fall as well, but spring wins hands-down.  It signals an end to the dearth of winter, and my SAD markedly improves.  The really challenging/frustrating thing is that I often can't get to sleep at night.  I'll be up since 5am, put in a long and busy day, often very physically active, and be lying there at midnight unable to sleep.  Why?  Well, it's very similar to when my Aunt Juba goes to Vegas.  She canNOT sleep there.  As she says: "They're having fun without me"

Yup.  The planet is getting happy, and I get happy with it.

Not sleeping can be anywhere from annoying and tiring, to exhausting and dangerous.  But as I said, I've learned to deal with it.  I often get a lot accomplished**.  For example, earlier last week I got a LOT of drafts either finished or started for YOU, dear readers.  Many of them are blasts from the past, but still relevant.

This past Friday and Saturday (March 16 & 17) is a very good example, in terms of rest and extra energy both.  I woke up at 4am.  I lay there unable to get back to sleep.  I listened to the birds, heard my one room mate get up at 5:30 and shower, and then his fiance at 6:30 and shower.  The water running must have helped me drift back down because I didn't hear them leave and lock up.  I rewoke at 7:45 cranky and tired.  I know I didn't get all the way down into REM from how my brain was functioning.  But I said fuck it and got up.

A girlfriend, Felicia, called me for our semi-regular morning chats.  We usually get one in on Thursday or Friday as she drives to work.  Thursdays I don't have to be anywhere until 1pm, and my Fridays are always in flux. So we usually get one visit in per week.  We had about an hour of talking, and then it was OFF to the races.

AAAAAAALLLLLLLL day I baked, and cleaned, and did laundry.  I found my bedroom floor.  Even disassembled and washed, then reassembled (the difficult part) all my dog's bedding.

Four o'clock rolled around and since I didn't want to stop without finishing all my tasks, I was running late.  My monthly, para-professional community event started at 7.  Doors open at 6 and I usually arrive before that to help set up.  But I didn't make it there until 6:45.  Thankfully my friends didn't mind.  I had a wonderful time, but I was exhausted.  Got home around midnight, and to sleep approximately 1:30 Saturday morning.  Well, I can't know that for sure, but that's the last time I remember seeing on the clock.  I slept poorly and had bad dreams as I had all week, only to be up again at 7:30 and out the door at 9:30.  This time attending a para-professional expo during the day and religious gathering in the evening.

I currently down own a car, so I rely on mass transit.  It could be better here, but I'm thankful to have what we do.  1-3 routes come within a mile of my house depending on the day/time.  I can typically get everywhere I need to be within 90 minutes, and I've learned to use that as my mental down time.  Or chat time with friends via text.  I can't read/study on the bus; I get nauseous and a horrible headache.  Saturday morning/afternoon taking the bus to and from my destination only would have saved me 5 minutes  Since I walk quickly I opted to walk.  Then I wouldn't have to deal with timing my departure to coincide with schedules.  It was just under 2 miles and a beautiful day (though I did get soaked on the way home).  I was DRAGGING by the time I left at 2pm, having been on my feet consistently since 9:30.

My friend Bobby (married to Felicia) was there Saturday and had also attended the event Friday night.  When I got home (and texted him to let him know I was safe) he expressed concern about me going to my religious gathering.  Especially given it meant yet another long commute.   Especially since I only had 90 minutes of down time before leaving again.  Plus, said down time had to include a playing with J and getting ready.  I took his point; it was valid and he was worried about me.  But there are only 8 sabbats/year and I knew that if I didn't go I'd regret it.  I needed the worship, community and fun.  I needed the emotional and spiritual energy tune-up.

And besides, I assured him, I'd already arranged for a ride home.

Saturday formally ended when I got home at 11:30 pm and collapsed into bed.  Thankfully I finally slept well and was able to sleep until I woke naturally.  But my MIND wasn't tired.  Granted I was dragging mentally Friday night, and late Saturday night, but I was still lucid.  Sunday my legs were really aching.  Annoying but a good sign.  It means my body is adjusting, and the mania*** was starting to wane.

Today is Wednesday and so far it has been a hectic week.  I am sleeping better, and my rest has greatly improved.  Monday night I slept SO hard/deeply, that I stumbled around the first several minutes when I got up Tuesday morning.  If you read my Tuesday post, you know I had a rough evening (on Monday).  All part of the process/disease.  The intense crying Monday night probably helped tire me out so that I slept better.  I had two 'mountaintop experiences', as my father would say, over the weekend.  Using a LOT of mental and physical energy.  Hypomania was DEFINITELY involved.  That takes a toll on body and spirit.  So part of Monday night was the pendulum swinging back.  But I'm still here, still keepin' on.  As far as I'm concerned, other options aren't relevant.

And today I learned that as of midterm I have straight A's.  WOOT!  Time for the Snoopy dance!




*Mania, in it's varying levels of intensity, often feels GOOD.  It's one reason why people with mental illness don't take their meds.  I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy the sensation and effects on occasion.  But once the pendulum starts one way, it CAN get out of control, and very quickly, for anyone.


**another component of mania that is often enjoyed-- the productivity.  Although, it's not always GOOD work, and things started during these phases often go unfinished for many people.


***it's very important as one starts down the recovery road to know how your body responds and your thoughts change.  self-awareness keeps you safe and healthy.

and a final note on mania-- mania has varying degrees of intensity and severity.  While most commonly thought of in people with severe bipolar disorder (formally manic-depression), it is found in people with other psychiatric challenges.  Many people without bi-polar disorder may have episodes of mania, even those NOT on the mood disorder spectrum.

Damn hormones

So last Friday night I was a bit weepy, and no idea why.  Had a rather maudlin mood going on, not quite a woe-is-me / feeling sorry for myself type mood, but it was out of the blue enough to annoy me.  I gave in to a little bit of crying, and when that didn't lessen the funk I got more aggravated. 

Anger is a good emotion for me; it's safe.  It allows me to feel something besides hurt, scared, or sad thus providing a good focus.  As a surface emotion is sometimes provides a good distraction.  What I found most frustrating-- other than the woe-is-me slant that my thoughts/emotions were taking-- is that I had no idea where the mood was coming from.  Granted, sometimes things surface, but I'd been having a pretty good day/evening.  So what the hell?

Plus in the back of my mind was the creeping fear:  not again.  Please not again.  I'm JUST starting to really even out after the disaster that was early February.  I want to keep going forward, not circle back.  I can be, and will probably continue to be for a few more months, paranoid about the course of my moods.  Never knowing what they might herald.

Saturday morning I discovered that my period had arrived overnight.  So, question answered.  I was a little weepy last night, for a different reason.  "Legitimate" feelings going on with that, but I pushed 'em aside to look at later.  I thought about blogging it, but knew I'd be up all night.  So I chose sleep.  Plus, I know that had I blogged about what's eating me last night there was a good chance I'd give in to the cry HARD core.  And anything I wrote would be colored by a lot of victim-esque word choices in my contemporary misery.

I shall probably write about it for everyone later in the week.

For today, my point is this--- hormones MATTER when it comes to mental illness.  Doesn't matter if you're male or female, fertile or not.  Hormones impact mood.  And not just the 'sex' hormones.  Wonky thyroids wreck HAVOC on 'normal' people.  So dear readers, if you feel a little off-- please go see your doctor.  It might not be in your head, or "JUST" in your head.  Sometimes a little bloodwork answers a lot of questions, and a daily pill can remedy a lot of headaches.

The Pond is Still

Today's post comes from a journal entry I originally wrote back in late May/early June of 2005.  J had been with me for about 9 months, and I had returned to work full time in late March.  It was a big adjustment, and very tiring.  I was working in a call center with all the fun that entails.  ;)  The company was very good to us, and gave me all the help and reasonable accommodations that I could have wished.

I had been having a few bad weeks, not sleeping well at ALL.  It was starting to impact my work and creating social problems for me at the office.

The only blessing I can see to being so heavily drugged, is that I slept straight through the night for the first time in over a month.   Don't particularly care for the zonked out, OD feeling I'm experiencing.  I'm overly calm and quiet on the phone, not myself at all.   I understanding how Shawn used to complain about being over-medicated when we were kids, feeling trapped inside your head yet outside your body.

I couldn't move quickly it I wanted to.  I just need to trust that the doc knows what he's doing with these significant med increases.  He even added a strong neural depressant--which I think is the main reason for this continual stupor. Maybe in a few days my system will adjust.  God I HOPE so!  I feel like an exhausted shell of myself.   Unable to even hold my head up and stare down the jerks who rudely spoke to and stared at me yesterday.  I don't even have pride to fall back on in this state.

I lay down for 10 minutes, the last few of my lunch break, and ended up sleeping for over 45!  My supervisor is going to kill me.  Especially after the lecture I got just last week on schedule adherence.

Phillip's been taking J out to the bathroom as I sit here like worthless bump on a chair.  Out of sorts--as Phillip puts it--doesn't even begin to scratch the surface.   It feels as though it takes eons for a single coherent thought to bubble up from the depths of my mind.

The pond is still, unnaturally so,
so that any breeze ruffling through the surrounding trees doesn't disturb the water.

The night is dark, no moon
                                              or stars,
and yet there is a faint light to see by.
No animals--

nothing stirs.


Just my barren, darkened mind
                                                         trying
to product thoughts,
wasting for lack of light.


Longing for sleep, yet
                                           fearing what comes
with true consciousness,
the realizations of pain caused.


Blissfully, another pill sinks beneath the surface of the pond.
For here pain is
                              dulled
                                                 and guilt
cannot intrude.

I'd like to buy an "O" please

I miss sex.  Well, that's not entirely true.  I miss the intimacy of sex.  Talking in the dark while cuddling.  Long, sensual make-out sessions.  The connection you have with a lover.

And right now I'm so busy, that I'm lucky to have a passing flirtation in the halls with friends at work or school.

Intercourse isn't really the issue, though.  Sexual gratification IS.  There was a time when I could get myself off when I needed to, or even when I didn't need to.  Ah, they halcyon days of youth when calendars was open and we didn't have to pencil in masturbation as a priority.  Anyone over 30 remember those days?  I'm not sure I do any more.

For several years now, unfortunately, orgasm hasn't come easily.  Or often.  The reasons are many, but I'll break it down for you as best I'm able.

For many people with MI, the disease hinders our sexuality.  Part of this can be symptoms of the disease itself.  Sadness, low energy, trouble sleeping, loneliness, the tendency to isolate--these things make sex a low priority for me.  Irritability, anxiety, and an inability to sit still can make it unpleasant for friends to be around me.  There's a double edge to the symptoms sword when pursuing intimacy.  I also suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder [SAD], so winter months can be more difficult from intensified symptoms. 

I have the above symptoms challenges on the "emotional" plane.  I say emotional because most of what I listed directly concerns my psyche, even though MI is by definition biochemical.  It's hard to feel sexy, or interested in sex, when I'm forcing myself through the day/week/month.  That reality is hardly unique to people with MI.  The stresses of life intrude.  We all know this.  So take the worries of modern living and add to that the symptoms of mental illness.  The blah of apathy, the fatigue of continual effort, and the sting of low self-esteem.  "No one else sees me as attractive, so why should I?"  It circles back nastily.

Many medications inhibit our hormones, libidos, and responses.  I wasn't being redundant there, rather hair-splittingly specific.  Each is different.  This is the bigger challenge for me on the "physical" plane.  I take two medications that impact my libido and my sexual responsiveness.  Many people on the mood disorder spectrum--as I am--need more than one drug from time to time regardless if they suffer from ongoing "mild" depression or severe bi-polar disorder.  I can be in a nice, sensual mood.  That mellow, relaxed, lustful feeling that presents many options for fun.  I can accentuate that mood with a dirty book or an erotic movie.  I can do everything I know that I enjoy to get down with my bad self . . .

and nothing happens.

Mild to moderate arousal, no chance of climax.  Highly annoying.  Sometimes you can keep at it until you get there.  But eventually the mental/emotional frustration causes me to give up.  When you go at it for a good HOUR without success, it's not a case of giving up without sufficient effort.  Yes, masturbating without orgasm can still be incredibly satisfying.  Sure, self-touch can be enjoyable in and of itself.  I enjoy a lot of sensuality aside from masturbation some days.  It's what I have come to focus on since orgasm has become SO irritatingly elusive.

I want a damn orgasm!  It doesn't have to leave me panting with my toes curled.  Just GETTING there would be nice!

Recently I've been talking a lot with a new friend, Felicia.  She's an incredible woman and we're becoming very close, very quickly.  She's also one of those very blessed woman, possessing a husband who's an incredible lover.  He feels that he hasn't done his job properly if he hasn't given her several screaming orgasms before he allows himself one.

So apparently, ladies, they aren't a myth existing only in romance novels.  ;)

They have an incredible sex life, and manage to keep it decently active despite being working parents with two young children.  I envy her that, and she knows it.  I'm living vicariously through her a lot right now.  She doesn't mind in the least, and gets a kick out of it.  We've discussed my sex life, and lack-thereof, quite a bit.  Trying to be helpful she'll give me suggestions like internet porn or new sex toys.  I'll explain how certain things don't do it for me, or work for me.  Bless her.  She really wants sexually fulfilment to be a regular part of my life.  She wants that for me.  I AM open to suggestions, so I believe she has started a mission to help me have bigger, better orgasms.

As I said, I'd just like to have ONE.

The other night she finally began to understand how much more it's linked to medication and illness than opportunity.  Her response: "Oh honey, you poor baby!  How do you stand it???"

I just do.

Feeling aroused is challenging.  Being AWARE that I'm aroused sometimes doesn't happen; the disconnect is that great.  I'll go to the bathroom and realize I'm moderately wet, my body preparing itself for something that might theoretically occur.

I take two medications.  I've been on this particular combination for about 6 years, and it's worked very well for me.  I truly made strides forward in recovery once the cocktail balanced my neurotransmitters [NTs] enough for me to cope beyond activities of daily living.  So while there may be a better combination out there for me, the thought of changing them makes me nervous.  I LIKE having a life again.  I went too many years without.

So how do I stand it?  I just do.  It's a price I pay for stability.  For health.  For having a life beyond sleep and television.  But it doesn't stop me from wanting more, wishing for something better.

I'd like to buy an "O" please, Alex.

Shut up, Yoda

I'm assuming that title commanded the notice many, and the vilification of many more.  The first result was my intention; the second collateral damage.  The first reaction is not, however, the only reason I chose it.

Most Westerners are familiar with the now iconic lines of Yoda, the ancient Jedi Master.  His precepts lie entrenched within modern culture, etched on the hearts of several generations.  Quite probably the best known quote from all of Star Wars, "Do or do not, there is no try," was spoken by Yoda.  This axiom has spread far and wide to the benefit of many.

But with all due respect, your Honor, shut up. 

Let me explain:

I recognize that from a linguistic, even logical standpoint, 'merely' trying presupposes failure.  It may indicate a lack of effort on some level, or in the case of young Luke a lack of faith.  I understand that, hell I even AGREE to an extent.  My undergrad background is in rhetorical studies.  Language is very important, and reveals much about how we think and feel.

But some days, "trying" is all I have in me.  And these last two weeks, I have been "trying" very, very hard.

Mental illness is a soul-sucking, self-esteem crippling, mentally exhausting, physically draining classification of diseases.  Anyone who says otherwise is woefully ignorant.  The amount of energy it takes to get out of bed, wash, and dress is often more than many patients can handle at one point or another.  Leaving the house?  Forget it!

The standard definition of try is to attempt, or to make an effort.  Synonyms include: endeavour, strive, and undertake.  Synonyms with a slightly different meaning include struggle and trial.  Have you ever struggled through a bad case of the flu?  Have you ever felt that being sick is a trial, or trying?  Now take into consideration ANY long-term, chronic health condition. 

How's that light bulb coming?

During periods of decline there have been weeks, even months, when getting myself out of bed and STAYING out of bed took more effort that I ever would have imagined possible.  I couldn't always remember to brush my teeth, or even if I HAD brushed my teeth I was so heavily medicated.  I'd check the bristles on my toothbrush to see if they were damp.  Sometimes multiple times per day.  I might find the strength to shower, but not wash my hair.  Then could I find any clean clothes . . . . 

                
                "Now I'm hungry.  Legitimately hungry, but I'm SO TIRED.  Putting       
                together a meal is just too much work.  But at least I'm up, and
                dressed, and semi-clean.  That's progress."

And it was.  It was more than progress, it was a VICTORY.  On that day, in that time, I accomplished something that hadn't happened easily for some time.  Something that possibly hadn't happened the previous day.  I struggled and I strove, and that on day I succeeded.

Don't discount how much effort goes into the little things most of us take for granted.  And DON'T belittle it.  The strength required was so intense that those very acts wiped out all the energy I'd have for the next few hours. 

Choose whatever philosophical thought train you wish, I GET that the word try is one of the worst the English language has to offer.  The connotations ascribed over the years have created self-fulfilling prophesies, facilitated insincerity, and sustained justifications.  It is more than a word, more than a rhetorical construct.  The ambiguity of try is quite possibly one of the most nuanced and complex within psycho-social-linguistic pedagogy.  "Don't try, DO IT!" is something we tell ourselves, our peers, and our children.  Our intent is at worst compliance, at best motivation.  Occasionally the intended message of encouragement is received as criticism. 

I have come to regard these words with weary, apathetic resignation.  The message delivered is almost always communicated with loving intent if not delivery.  More often than not, emotional defensive mechanisms kick in.  I LONG to say- "I am doing the best I can right now fuck-you very much.  You try to cope with my daily life.  You try to strive, survive, succeed, SURPASS!  Don't judge me and I won't judge you."

But I don't.  I hold my tongue, sometimes biting until it bleeds.  So I shall strive that I may survive.  There will be days I succeed and months I surpass.  

For tonight I shall give myself permission to relax.  Postponing certain activities won't yield insurmountable consequences.  Temporary suspension may do more harm than good long-term.  I recognize the possibility but in truth I don't know.  I DO know that pushing myself too hard right now may set me back a bit, and I prefer to continue on an upward trend.  So tonight, I choose sloth.

And tomorrow, I'll try to do better.