I don't know why you care/I don't know what's out there

I'm going to try for two entries today, since there wasn't really anything of interest posted yesterday.
It's odd. I'm so used to people trying to change who I am, the essential me-ness of myself, that finally finding someone who likes me as I am is very...strange. It's a wonderful, kind of giddy feeling, but it's still strange. I don't feel compelled to behave in a different way, to please a person, or persons, anymore. I can just be myself, and be appreciated for that. I wonder how long it will take me to get used to it. I wonder if I ever will. I wonder if I even want to get used to it. You know, I don't think I do. Want to get used to it, I mean.
I've been sleeping for most of the past three days, waiting for the meds to get out of my system. I'm pretty sure they're gone now (I hope to hell they're gone now), but I'm tempted to try them at a half-dose, to see if it works less...potently.
I was stupid and scheduled my next blood test for the morning after I get off work, which means I have to take all my meds BEFORE I go to work, which means I'll probably be sleepy as all get-out. Oh, well, more caffeine, then, I suppose.
I'm starting to read some of the more obscure books on my shelf, since I haven't been to a bookstore in awhile and haven't gotten my next shipment in yet. I'm currently reading Ahab's Wife, which is a lot more interesting than I originally thought it would be. Next will be A Yellow Raft in Blue Water, with either Abundance or The City of Falling Angels after that. I need to put the rest of my books on the shelf, they're currently scattered all over my room, on the floor, under piles of stuff. Speaking of books. I loaned my sister one of my Terry Pratchetts while she was visiting her friend, and I got it back looking a bit...chewed. I asked what happened, and she told me that she had spilled water all over it. It's still perfectly readable, but I'm a little bit miffed because it's my book. I can mangle my books all I want, because they're mine, but other people hurting my books is almost...blasphemous. That's not the word I want, but I can't seem to grasp the particular one I'm looking for. Oh, well. It happens.