Things continue to suck. I did, however, talk to Roy today and we commiserated on our mutual misery, and he gave me some coping tips that I just may put into practice--i.e. destroy my liver. Which I can do, actually, now that I'm off the Lyrica. It's hugely tempting, especially since after tomorrow morning I don't work again until late Thursday night. Which gives me plenty of time to become oblivious and sick and hungover and better.
Tempting. Really tempting. Unfortunately I doubt I'll lose enough self-control to do anything even remotely close to drinking myself into a stupor. Since it happened I haven't let myself cry or even come close to crying, since crying doesn't actually achieve anything. Here, now, writing about it is almost the only time I let myself feel hurt at all. The rest of the time I just...I guess the simplest way to describe it is that I just ignore it. I've shuffled it off into the same realm as the depression, which I cope with by ignoring it. Mostly. Every so often it gets completely overwhelming, but not too often, not really. And I know that this particular pain will disappear, eventually.
I'm just so tired of being alone.
I went and saw Quantum of Solace today; it was good. Very Bond--stylish and stylized and sweeping. It was darker than the other Bond movies I've seen, though, and it skimmed over parts that I would have loved to see in more detail, or at least get a bit more exposition. I suppose when the DVD comes out there'll be two or three hours worth of deleted scenes and bonus features which will explain all the bits that were obviously cut out of it for either content rating or length; either that or said deleted scenes will serve only to confuse the issue even more.
Anyway I've been up since 4 am, so even though it's only a bit past eight I think I'll go to bed now. It's easier when I'm asleep, except when I dream. I'm afraid of my dreams now.
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