All my life, I have had a keen sense of smell and even better hearing. Since I have stopped smoking, my nose has been almost too sensitive, picking up smells from those long gone, or those about to approach. I can tell if someone wearing Chanel no.5 has been in the vicinity within the past 20 minutes, or if a baby eating teething crackers is nearby. On the way home from the gym, I can tell from a block away if the Cloggers (tiny college-aged upstairs neighbors, known for their incredibly loud walking) have been smoking pot due to the tremendous amount of nag champa they burn (as if no one has ever used that trick before). I have yet to turn this into a wealth-making career or some kind of fame apparatus, but I'm sure that something will come up soon.
Other than that, I'm fine, thank you. How are you? It's been almost a month since I last wrote, though in my head when I think about sharing stories and noting quips, it's been far fewer days than that. I'm being harangued by the commentspamfaeries on this site and every other site I master, so for now I'm closing comments to all those besides commentors who are logged in via TypePad. MoveableType must come up with something for this soon, I hope. What a great way to ruin someone's hard work and annoy people to death so they purchase whatever it is you're selling. Bastards.
Things are still touch-and-go around here. Both Ben and I are dealing with certain things very similarly, which can be good. I still get incredibly jealous of those with babies and children, and have found myself seething and shouting biting comments in my head while cooing and ahhing over a newborn. There have been some times when I feel increasingly manic, and much like the last couple of posts on here, get incredibly depressed to the point of curling up in a fetal position to cry until I can no longer breathe and give up to blow my nose. Some days I don't want to get out of bed, and I have to force myself to walk into the bathroom to take a shower. I've been through all of this before, so it's like having an old best friend back in my life that was never any good for me, offering me an easy way out of things and skipping classes so we can smoke cigarettes in the park. One night, the thought of possibly having to go back to an institution (what connotations that word has!) or being on medication again made me freakthefuckout and hyperventilate while Ben looked on, helpless and confused. Since I don't have a full-time job right now, I haven't any health insurance, so I've pretty much left any kind of professional help out of the question. I'll get by as I always have, keeping myself as busy as possible so I don't have time to want to die or to bang my head up against the wall. I don't think I could or would ever get to the point again of actually attempting to hurt myself. I'm slightly afraid, though, that I may and that no one would know, and as soon as anyone would understand that, I would be faced with the reality that I need help.
Wow, so that went way off-topic and kind of personal. It's off to bed for me now so I can live and attempt to make it through another day. Not to sound dramatic or anything.
