bad medicine

Being sick has distracted me from the whole depression thing, except for the times when I've been depressed about being sick. Mainly I've just been really sick? The doctors gave me antibiotics (which I didn't need) and the antibiotics + antidepressants did a bunch a bad stuff that turned into pleurisy. Please hit my informative link if you're picturing a medieval rash, because pleurisy just sounds horrible and chronic and catching. Really it's only horrible. And contagious in extremely rare cases, but whatever. I hate pleurisy.

Being sick has also kept me from doing everything I normally do. The exceptions are playing Rune Factory, watching the Dog Whisperer, and reading. It's really making me crazy. You wouldn't think that it would, but it is.

For example: I have bookshelves in my spare closet now. They fit and look good. The space for books and comics has doubled. I got rid of all the stacks on the floor. But it's all tainted by pleurisy. Imagine inflamed and rasping pleura draped all over my well-displayed stuff. That's what it's like.

Tomorrow is my first class back (and last class of the term, oddly enough) since this all went down. Hopefully I'll be physically capable of riding in a car to the university, sitting in a room, talking calmly, and then being chauffeured home. Almost definitely I won't be capable of hanging out with people post-class, and having a bit of carefree, lighthearted fun like a normal person, or pixie.

Rage! Raaaaaaaaaage!!? I'm so petulant and whiny, though I don't have it that bad, I know. (Cancer is going to read this post and come get me.)