and yet, when the oxycodone hits, it's like a big slab of useless awfulness that presses down on me, smothering just about everything. there's no perspective. just me, this chair, and the pointless, stupid things that fill the time until bed. and then there's me, the bed, and the pointless stupid thoughts, until they are replaced by pointless, awful dreams.
i've been unreasonably easily frustrated, mostly at myself, but sometimes snapping unfairly at linda, who deserves in no way to be hurt, by me or by anyone else. and yet...
can an apology be meaningful when you know that it isn't over yet?