Before the wave of suicide imagery began this morning, I got up to let the dogs out to pee. We're trying to train them and this is step one in setting them up. How long I can do this I don't know.
My psychopharmacologist told me I am sleeping too much (what a surprise)—more than 12 hours a day. I don't even sleep really, just lay there, turning over again and again, avoiding the day. The suicide thing just gets worse while I burn up the hours.
When I did get up early, after three days I had a catharthis—mania set in—to a minor degree. I would rather have mania now than this depression.
I fueled the mania with espresso and roared along until about 2pm. Then things settled down. Needless to say, I got off the sleep program pretty quickly. I thought if I felt great, I could get away with "sleeping in." The pillow was warm and the lounging was deliciously decedent.
So here I am, ten to seven, espresso number three, hoping the caffeine doesn't push me into the awful, driven depression I go through when I am depressed and power the coffee.