I had a pretty nice day yesterday. Spent some time with Francesca and Delaney. Brought the Taylor family a great dinner and they even shared a little with me. Bought three boxes of Good and Plenty. The price has dropped from a dollar to ninety-eight cents, so I snapped those mothers up. Ben had an amazing ballgame, hit two doubles, his team winning by two after falling behind twice. Then, as I prepared to retire for the night, putting all the daily papers into the recycling, (those suckers pile up so fast) deciding on my sleepy time cocktail of pills for the night, I notice a little white circle glowing against the golden fibers of my deceptively clean-looking dining room area rug. Picked it up to discover it was a Welbutrin! Guess that one didn't make it into the mouth that morning.
I have yet to find a doctor, and I have asked at least six, that can explain the time-release effects, or even the specific meaning of the words to me. It has always turned out to be a discussion in semantics. I felt pretty good today, got all that EPA and DMV stuff cleared up with out a hitch and bought some peanut butter cookies, but I had to wonder what missing that pill yesterday meant. I know when I was taking that crumby, crumbling, smelly, yellow generic, I was in a prolonged semi manic state that in actual fact provided many pleasant side effects, a huge weight loss, a million brilliant words carefully stored on memory sticks, a new attitude about partnership and "marriage", a new sense of me. So I am almost tempted to try skipping a few more of those pearly white puppies and see what happens. But I know when it happens I am unable to judge what is happening, whether or not I am enjoying it. So, bummer. I skipped a pill. No big deal. The whole bipolar thing? No big deal. I guess. . .