Tempus Frangit

One of the biggest problems I’ve had the last four years (OK, longer than that but I can’t remember when it started) is figuring out time. Time management, time projections, time allocation. Looking back, that began due to a combination of boredom with my former dayjob, undiagnosed ADD and increasing pain.

by Peter Whiddon via Compfight

Even though the combo of Cymbalta, Neurontin and Flexeril I now take every day keeps pain at a lower ebb, I can no longer work full time, or even out of the house for that matter (unless someone knows of a job I can do part-time in a recliner?). That lack of externally imposed structure makes it even harder for me to regulate my behavior according to my needs and commitments. Just having a pill schedule isn’t enough. Nor is the hard-won knowledge of how bad the pain will get if I don’t maintain regular sleep, hydration and activity. Word on the street is that Cymbalta can increase apathy and anxiety, while Neurontin and Flexeril have a sedating effect. I’ve found it’s possible to be stoned and sleepy, yet anxious at the same time, which I guess any paranoid pothead could have told me. And you’d think that apathetic is the opposite of anxious, but somehow I cycle though both those mental states to varying degrees most days, further confusing any vestigial memory of how to accomplish what I want to get done.

A time for everything and everything in its time would be nice. If there were a discrete organelle in my brain that handled the fourth dimension, it would be undifferentiated, hemorraging mush. So for now, time is broken. At least I’m still here to bitch about it.


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