Morose and Mopey

Damn but I am all morose and mopey.  I am frequiently morose and mopey but I usually can make a joke or something or get some distance by thinking about stuff.  But this damn cold, that started last Sunday, has been going full bore for almost a week now, and while no worse, shows no signs of remission.

Now my temperature won’t even get up to 98.6 and hovers somewhere around 98.2.  Also I have taken into taking my blood pressure, with this over the counter blood pressure machine I bought at Costco.  That’s always a bad sign. And not very helpful either, since I can’t seem to get the damn thing to work correctly; it shows anywhere on the high side from 137 which is not good to 120 which would be excellent were it the truth.

Also the Nyquil is altering my mood, and I don’t think it mixes all that well with all my other meds, those being primarily Trazadone, Wellbutrin, and Klonapin.  All nasty little items.  Did I say, I am trying to get off the Wellbutrin, and am switching over to the Trazadone because it’s supposed to be beneficial for sleep.  So I am going off one med and unto another.

Among the side effects listed for Trazadone are: nausea, dizziness, insomnia, agitation, tiredness, dry mouth, constipation, lightheadedness, headache, low blood pressure, blurred vision, and confusion.  When you read the stuff, you kind of wonder if the cure is worse than the disease.  And were this not a description of my normal state I might be more worried. 

But this baby does have one side effect that bothers me quite a bit: priapism.  This is the famous four hour erection that you might get if you take Viagra or one of those meds for ED (ED! Can you believe “erectile dysfunction”—another example of the social construction of something otherwise known as impotence.—but hey, that might be too graphic.)  So everything is all screwed up.  What was once a good thing, now becomes fraught with danger.  Should I sense any life in THAT area I become concerned that something untoward might occur.

I could end up in the damn hospital because some times the only cure for this painful condition is surgery.  My god, they must bleed the penis!  And sometimes, after, well, say goodbye to any life down below.

Which reminds me, I have got to call Jay and see how his surgery went for that prostate thing.

Damn! No wonder I am mopey.

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