Militant dandelion

I’m standing at the top of Bishop’s Peak, eating a mango like an apple. My backpack is painted in dust with a suggestion pasted to it suggesting correctly that (for me) ‘death can wait’. I am crusted in dirt and a sunscreen resemblent of a thick, white paste not unlike like Elmer’s Glue. I’m basically in my underwear, drinking a tepid combination of water and sugar free monster from a canteen covered with stickers bearing slogans about feminist topics and one or two from the Airfield Supply Company, Twitter, and various breweries. I look like freckled, happy Delores Park Trash. The beautiful blonde Cal Poly kids that started the same time as me, just reached the summit and look like death, with their collapsed and sunburned little shoulders.

I feel great. I could keep going, like a small, disheveled mountain sprite .

~~~~~~~Later

I made it down.

On the descent, the rocks were too hot to touch and the dirt radiated heat back up at me, like an asshole. An asshole complicit with the sun.

I need food.

Bishop’s Peak, you’re a beautiful thing.

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Cymbalta: a terrible party for your brain. Also, cat litter.

A few months back, a doctor placed me on Cymbalta as part of a course intended to help alleviate some of the nerve and back pain, because I am not living my best life with this ish.

This is the previously mentioned doctor of the rather pretty Russian accent who told me I had fibromyalgia. I very likely do not have fibromyalgia, but do have severe spinal issues.

So of course the Cymbalta worked wonderfully and a great impact on my mental well-being. Right?

Well fuck no, it didn’t work for anything barring me flatulating so so so so much that I had to run all over the place at work in order to not just have a giant stink Cloud around me. (That is the least favourable Cloud to have surrounding you when bartending, BTW.) It also interacts SO BADLY with alcohol. So. Bad.

Ive spent 2 months tapering off of Cymbalta, first going from 60 down to 30, then staying on 30 and coming off. The withdrawal. From this medication is absolutely nightmarish:

here’s a fact-checked article about some of the side effects, many of which I am experiencing.

Just, For the Love of fuck, if your doctor suggests Cymbalta for whatever reason, Especially if she suggests flippantly, then insists that it will definitely work off-label for some unrelated shit, run like fuck You Beautiful bitch because this is garbage.

Speaking of garbage:

My little tabby, Hermes, just walked up my back as I write this from a somewhat tortured version of child’s pose. I now have blue bits kitty litter gently sprinkled on my back. Litter boxes are garbage. There has to be a more effective way of not constantly having your house covered and a thin layer of crystals that may have cat piss on them. Someone desperately needs to invent a better litter box.

I’ve not been very good at writing anything at all lately. My brain isn’t working at top speed, and I honestly have a lot of stuff to do. That last line is a frequently used excuse for not writing. If you want to write, you’re going to write. I just have to get better at making myself, and somehow finding a way to do it whilst Cymbalta withdrawal throws a terrible terrible party in my brain.

Tonight I’m headed over to dinner at a friend’s house with my husband, and in the morning on Saturday, I’m driving to San Luis Obispo to hike and experience an actual Beach.

” Well, doesn’t the San Francisco Bay Area have beaches?”Is something I imagine you asking…

Why yes, yes we do if you enjoy cold, somewhat rock-bedazzled beaches that are mostly for bonfires and walking dogs. San Francisco bay area beaches are pretty similar 2 East Coast beaches: Rocky, full of dogs(bonus) and really great for sitting, staring and pouting. Not so great for being half-naked and playing volleyball, which is the kind of beach that I like to interact with.

So. San Luis Obispo, because I want to be around warm nature, and also because I want to be alone and write a tonne of words that I’ll probably delete.

All right. I have to pack. I love you, and remember:

Dissent is patriotic, organization is key to proper Revolution, and for fucksake, don’t climb the Statue of Liberty, that does literally nothing.

Peace.