That title is a quote from a poem, but I don't know which one. Kate has gone to bed and I'm waiting for my pills to kick in. I don't like being in bed when I'm wide awake, so I wait until I'm sleepy to go up. My eyes are red rimmed and sore, both from smoking too much and from fatigue - I really need to sleep tonight. It's 2300 and I've had a good evening - my mood has been flat but I've enjoyed myself writing this and talking with Kate.
My hands are starting to itch because I've taken my quetiapine - it happens quite soon afterwards, and I try not to scratch them. The trouble is that I do it in my sleep, if I get any. My legs are beginning to feel restless - those ants under my skin are working overtime on my nerve endings. You can't eat grapefruit on quetiapine, which is a pity as I like the juice for breakfast. So it's Innocent Orange Juice for me.
We've mostly cleared away the supper things and the dishwasher has finished its cycle, but it's too hot to unload, so I'll put the rest of the things in tomorrow morning.
I spent 16 years in the RAF defending the Free World , then got bunged out unceremoniously for being bipolar. I and was subsequently diagnosed with PTSD. Funny old world, isn't it?