Going on 15 days at 0 milligrams

I have written nothing here for a number of days largely because words fail me.  I can’t  find the vocabulary that would effectively convey this purgatorial state of being neither quite dead nor quite alive.  I ache and go about half asleep it seems most of my waking hours; my sleeping hours are more like waking than I would like them to be.

Yesterday was Christmas, 2015.  I hated it.  I hate Christmas anyway, and all the more because the club closes down for Christmas (and New Year’s) and I can’t get my exercise and the heat I need for aching muscles.

So we took a short morning walk to the grocery store and an hour walk in the afternoon and in between I sort of dozed off and on.

15 days out from zero and no end in sight. Apparently, diazepam cannot be detected in the blood six weeks after stopping.  Anecdotally, the word is one may find some respite about that time, though withdrawal can continue from six months to a year.

I was irritated to see a word I had never seen before.  Found out it was a neologism, from sociology, becoming faddish round 2012.  “Precarity,” from precarious, denoting a class of persons subject to economic precariousness.

The retiree newsletter reports that M.D. died this November.  She was a good colleague.

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