I saw Dr. Tween again yesterday. Now we are going to add Zoloft to my cocktail of medications. I think I have to take half a pill in the morning and half a pill in the afternoon or something like that. I am turning into a little old lady with all the medicines I have to take! I even carry one of those daily pill box thingies in my purse and set alarms on my cell phone to remind me when to take what! I'd better get my cholesterol lowered before they put me on a statin, because if my regimen grows any larger, my pill case is going to be larger than my purse!!! I'll have to just put a handle on it and carry it instead of a purse. I wonder if I could make one and market it one of those companies, will put it on of those late night infomercials, put it in those "AS SEEN ON TV!" websites and stores, and make my millions. Hmmmm. Don't you people in the blogosphere take my idea. I'm copywriting this blog. Where's that circle C button?
Seriously though, this is a bit disturbing. I work out and everything, I quit smoking about 7 months ago, (although since the stress of my illness and recent revelations about my infidelities drove my husband back to smoking after 3 years) I have been slowly finding my way back to that filthy habit. My blood pressure went up after quitting smoking (WTF?) which was supposedly caused by the reduction in my outlet for stress. My diet suffered when I got sick and my cholesterol level went through the roof. My tummy tuck also prevented me from working out for 6 weeks and I'm just getting back into the swing of things. So all this shit is conspiring against me. I really have to watch my health in order to keep my brain chemistry in balance as much as possible, so I'd better take this shit seriously or I really will be dragging about in a messenger bag of drugs rather than a purse. And messenger bags went out of fashion about 7 years ago. I'm not cute enough, young enough or famous enough to revive the trend and keep it going. Everyone will know I'm a beeper! Maybe I'll just push a rolling suitcase everywhere and take an extra change of clothes for good measure. The alternative is a shopping cart but that speaks to a future as bag lady, and that is just to chilling. A very likely possibly should I sufficiently fuck up personal life further due to my illness. Always a possibility that looms large due to the nastiness of this illness. Staying healthy physically and mentally is paramount to keeping my bipolarity in check. I hate being a fucking loon.
I've been considering my limitations now that I've come to accept that I fall into the category of mentally ill. Stress is the enemy. I have always worked in a pressure cooker environment, in jobs that have brought no satisfaction even on the best of days. I'm conflicted between a strong work ethic--my inner voice telling me to buck up and get back in the trenches and work, work, work without regard to what it does to me mentally. Who gives a shit about that. Making money is what matters, and I made just shy of six figures. The other side of my brain tells me that that is only going to make me sick again. I have reached the end of my abilities to survive in that sort of environment, to work 10-12 hours a day, doing everything to get the job done no matter the cost to my health or my personal life. (e.g. personal responsibility to my family). I do believe that I must leave that environment but still must work. I just am not qualified to do anything and have to learn something new. I don't know what, and I'm not going to pull in anything near what I earned before, but I need to be productive. I will continue to freelance with my writing in the meantime, not that I've sold anything yet! It just helps my self esteem to say that I am.
So, what to do, what to do. Mr. PolarBabe thinks trophy wife is the perfect occupation. Hmmm. Sounds promising, but I think that's an all benefits job. Receptionist somewhere sounds stressless, but that's not going to take care of the huge childcare bills that we will have. I guess I will have to think of this off and on. I'm taking suggestions, so if you can think of anything for a mentally ill goofball, I'm all eyeballs.