May has gone all weepy

It was all going downhill quickly before it became apparent. The nerve blocks aren't holding, sleep is a disaster, cognitive deficits are creating spiraling frustration, erratic weather has a way of wreaking havoc on all things mood related, but the nine prescriptions have a way of winding things up and then letting them flame out to a whimper.

Car crying is a symptom but not a problem since I excel at this particular type of multitasking. Lying in bed with tears streaming from the corners of my eyes and into my ears is a discomfort on several levels. Not being able to concentrate long enough to finish a sentence before going onto the next one is easy to chalk up to having too many things going on, except that I don't.

It's not until I stop feeling concerned about what I say or if it bothers anyone that I know I'm dangerously irritable. Tact filters down! Tact filters down! Raise defensive shields! Not that much! Apologize! For what?? I'm just sayin.'

I'm all mixed up. It would appear that I wasn't paying attention because a mixed state has been whacking me on the head for at least two weeks, but I've been too moody to notice. Sometimes I think about a book I had as a child. It's not really read anymore as it was deemed politically incorrect by the department of political correctness. The book was called Little Black Sambo. I suppose if they called him simply Sam and took the hairstyle down a notch, the whole tale would have stood the test of time a little better.

I digress. Of course I do. I'm going a mile a minute while being unable to get my ass off of the couch. All hail the Internet.

Back to Sambo. Sambo is an Indian Boy (probably Tamil) who is shaken down by a group of tigers. They steal his clothes, his shoes, and even his pretty umbrella, but then they fight among themselves and chase each other around a tree so rapidly and for so long, they churn themselves into a puddle of butter. That's a mixed state. You get going with such ferocity, that after awhile, you're unrecognizable (May? Is that you? Are you salted or sweet cream? Would you like to sit in the fridge for a while to sort things out?)

Mostly, though, I cry. I weep. I sob. Hot tears on my face while I shower, the car crying, bedtime crying, talking to the doctor crying, crying a lot crying.

But I'm not depressed. That's entirely different.