Have to make more doctor's appointments, find new counselors, pay off any open refills on meds before it's too late and all expire. Need groceries too. My head my foot and the vacuum of a body in between. These are things I think on clonazepam. This is the way I write on clonazepam. And I have just enough grumpled energy from somewhere beneath the powdery yellow-wash of pill to remember resenting this. To remember this is how I get on clonazepam, all resigned and powdery and vague, and I don't like it. Don't like being this way one bit. Then the next wave of pharmaceutical restraint masquerading as patience and calm sweeps back over me. It's a struggle to be ruffled up on meds. Something falls making a creepy slipping noise but I just stare around blandly, not even really trying to locate it, until my eyes fall on a heavy book sagging against the sofa where it just fell open. Muted everything. Stubbornness can be a kind of passion.
