*glug* *glug* *glug*

[icarus]

I'm falling apart now.

I have two essays due today. One is due in two hours and I couldn't do it. I've tried since yesterday... I'm just spent. I haven't even started. I don't even have a clue what I'm going to write about.

The other's due tonight (and it's already late).

I had my second all-day ESL conference on Saturday. It's more prep than I can do for my tutoring. I am completely fried from this conference. Lots of activities and group involvement. I'm surprised they didn't have us juggling. At the end the teacher hovered over my shoulder and I sent her to someone else. We were supposed to design an ESL lesson plan on the spot during class, just to give you an idea of the intensity: I told my group that I'm taking 17 credits and I'm completely, utterly fried. My group partner sad: "17 credits? That's not possible."

My HIS 210 group met on Sunday, but I couldn't go. Just... couldn't.

The Percy Ficathon has one more week. No, I haven't even started my story. Fuck.

The Percy Ficathon site continues on apace. I have the templates from singtoangels but haven't had time to look up the names of the coders to send them out.

The Icarus Slash Fiction site looks lovely, but I've run out of brainpower for it.

I have reading to do that's... not done. I did get the reading done for two classes. I've barely scratched the surface on my research paper. I should be much further along.

On the other hand, the original fiction is moving out the door (thank god something got finished).

Squabbling over hp_dungeons, I can check that off my list.

Emailing the people from Nitartha about their damned books that I need to mail back to them: check. Emailing jerk at Nitartha who tried to tell me what do with my life: check.

Talked to the landlady about the damned laundry that wildernessguru left downstairs for days, and got it back: check.

Now, just when I'm struggling with my courseload, wildernessguru is putting on the brakes with the housework. Wants me to cook more, help out more.

He has no responsibilities right now. Not even one. But he can't help me out.

ETA: On the plus side, I have a really fuzzy, cute kitty asleep on the couch next to me. He's getting fat, but that just makes him fluffier.

Comments

[icarusancalion.livejournal.com]

I also don't believe in medications unless the situation is very extreme.

My idea of extreme: a have a family member who suffers from schizophrenia. If he does not take his meds, he's likely to walk in front of a train believing it will pass right through him, and he hallucinates demons in the closet.

That is a situation that needs medication.

Even then, there's a real downside to the medication. The other effects (I refuse to use euphemisms to downplay these effects) are awful. They dull his mind out so that this brilliant young man, who's an outstanding student with a fine grasp of the abstract (he's been compared to Linus) can barely focus and is sluggish all the time. He can't concentrate well and sleeps all the time. He's treated as if he's retarded because he speaks slowly and is slow to follow directions because of the medication.

The one that works better for him is addictive. The long-term effects of another of his drugs is a persistent facial tic. Then there's the long-term liver damage. Better than stepping in front of a train. But if you can avoid the medications altogether I would.

About ten years ago, someone attempted to alleviate some situational depression with Zoloft, with horrible results. Holy cow. That drug works by hyping up your system so that you are unable to concentrate on anything, good or bad. Like pouring champagne in your bloodstream.

My answer: flussssssh entire prescription down the toilet. Remove self from intolerable situation. Problem solved.

I know a woman who was given Zoloft for PMS for Christ's sakes.

Every ten years or so the medical profession gets excited about a medication, over-prescribes it, abuses it, and then finds out later what the serious effects are. In the early 60's the 'miracle drug' was cocaine. The mid-60's it was valium. Morphine was another one. They've over-prescribed antibiotics and now there're are resistant strains of virus' with no antibiotic to cure them. I sense that same feeling of cure-all excitement over anti-depressants and veer away.

Now, another friend of mine has real depression to the extent that my family member has schizophrenia. They've tried everything from lithium to you name it. Of course he's on anti-depressants.

I've seen real depression in action, that's why I recognise the symptoms. What WG has is pretty mild.

I'm not going to get into an argument about this. Honest, I don't have the energy or time.

But as far as I'm concerned, medication is a method of last resort, like amputating an arm. WG feels the same way.

Icarus

[ursula]

Your response to Zoloft sounds, er, idiosyncratic. I've had friends on Zoloft for whom it seemed to be the difference between freaking out over little things and being able to look at the big picture-- the brain-chemical equivalent of skipping breakfast vs. not skipping breakfast.

But then anyone's response to mind-altering chemicals is going to be idiosyncratic. Makes generalization either way dangerous.

[icarusancalion.livejournal.com]

I loathe drugs in any way, shape or form.

I'm in a cruddy, over-stressed mood and arguing with my feelings about drugs at this moment is a good way to find out the breadth and scope of my knowledge of profanity.

Icarus