Unbelievable. After increasing my Zyprexa dose for two nights I feel better, though certainly not out of the woods. I didn't weep yesterday.
I'm having trouble getting to sleep, however, because the drug makes my legs twitch, not to mention that I increased the Wellbutrin dose as well. I'm maxed out on my meds, and if they don't work, I'll have to drive four hours down to San Francisco to see a good psychopharmacologist.
I don't want to say anymore about my kilorat wattage for fear of jinxing myself.
Instead I'll share a joke I heard on Dr. Demento. It was told in the first person so I'll try to do it justice from memory, full well knowing that a written joke is never as funny as a spoken one. It might be better to read this aloud to a friend.
"Back in Alaska, working for the railroad, I was a Gandy dancer. You know what that is? We had these long-handled shovels, Irish banjos, and we'd stick 'em under the railroad ties or rails and then bounce on the handle end to raise the tracks, so the other workers could shove gravel and dirt under the ties. Anyway, that time passed and now they'd send three cars to work on a stretch of track: a bunk car, a tool car, and a kitchen car. But the company never sent a cook. So what happened, and I was a newbie, was that whoever complained about the cooking would have to become the cook until someone else complained. Not knowing the ropes I was naturally appointed cookd.
"Now I hate to cook. So I bethought myself how to get out of this responsibility. I was walking out in the woods when I saw a huge moose turd, I mean really big. So I rolled that puppy back to the kitchen car and decided to make a pie out of it. Someone was bound to complain.
"I covered a big pastry pan with dough, pinched it, put in the moose turd, covered it with fancy strips and a little mint on top and shoved it in the oven. When it came out it was a thing of beauty. I set it down on the table for the hands.
"Big Jack came in and sat down, he was a mountain of a man. Immediately he dug in to the pie. A strange look passed across his face and I thought he was going to wallop me. But after swallowing the first bite, he said, "Moose turd pie! Not bad."
Thine in hope and haute cuisine,