damik's Diaryland Diary

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God, what was that all about?

A seed gently falls from the sky. The smell of rain lingers from the night before. And the cats rush to great me as I get home. Ah for the routine.
And for the things that I've neglected. My apartment is messy again, my car is trashed. I need to take care of my life. I don't know where I'm going, but I feel like I'm fading from good. I wanted to cry myself to sleep last night. But thats an activity best left for when your alone.
I don't know why either. I have absolutely no reason to feel this way. I'm back to work, I'm taking my zac daily, I have a purpos and things to do, a wonderful boyfriend who's everything I never thought I deserved, I mean god, I'm not even desperatly broke now. What the hell is going on with me? Snap out of it Danie.
I'm probably just plateuing on my meds. As soon as I adjust to the level I'm at now, I'll be just fine. I sorta remember doing this the first time I did the whole Prozac thing. Just hope I avoid the "want to kill myself" part. I'm at the point where I'm begining to think life rocks.
I'm going to go to the coffee gardan after work today and get back into my story.
I need to spend a night in my own bed. Not that I don't enjoy sharing Will's bed, but I can tell the cats miss me. Sad isn't it. I miss waking up with Miles curled up by my head too, but not as much as I like waking up to Will going to the shower.
Or today. I have a killer headache. And I'm still fucken wiped, so I actully slept through his shower this time. Instead I got to wake up his soft caress of my cheek. Much better then a cat headbutting me up. Sorry kitties.
I am such a freak.
There is a fire bug thingy floating in a cup of lemonade I've had sitting on my desk for almost two weeks now. I've forgotten what time I used to leave my apartment to be sure I make it to work on time. I still love to swing even though it makes me nausious. Today is going to be a good day. And I'm going to draw in my "Finding Danie" diary because there are too many blank pages after the last time I drew, and the child inside me, and the soul I'm searching for scream for me look again. Who am I? Am I silly to think I can find me through childlike artestry? God I wish I knew how to spell.
I look at the bare walls of my apartment and wonder that this is my world. This is my life. My world is supposed to be decorated, my world is supposed to reflect myself. I am not lifeless, white, brick walls. I am insightful, meaningfull, and a little obscure. You wouldn't see that to look at my surroundings.
Ok, things to do:
Clean car
Get oil change (over a month late, my car hates me.)
Clean apartment
Pay Nevada ticket
Write at the coffee garden
Find stuff to decorate place
Get supplies to make Ced a new cage and bucket wheel
Go over bills
Spend nauseating amounts of time fawning over new boyfriend.
Get bachlorette present
I think thats enough for now, I know there is more, but fuck it.
I did finally get a diagnosis. It is epstien-barr. Pisses me off actully, its such a non-thing. I missed so much work and acted like such a wuss for what? Some stupid non-virus that I shouldn't have even given the dignaty of letting phase me. Fucken dumb.

7:54 a.m. - 05-15-03
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