Tom Cruise is so gonna kick my ass.

So I finally bit that old bullet, and now, currently sitting in my bathroom are 2 vials of doctor-prescribed happy pills. I can't believe how easy it was to get them (well get the prescription for them, overcoming the mental block—going back and forth and forth and back about all the reasons why NOT to get medicated), 30 minutes with a doctor who had never met me, 2 prescriptions: a daily long term happy and a special "as-needed" super shot of happy. But after too many sad days and too much therapy going nowhere, and too much and too many self-destructive acts and too many making excuses for crazy behavior, too many crashes and way too much feeling sorry for myself, now they're sitting in my kitchen. In the hour walk from doctor to pharmacy, I'd psyched myself up for their impending positive effects... post-pharmacy visit, it turns out the daily version: a one month supply totalled $154, my tune had changed. (Fuck you George Bush's America health care plan) Smart pharmacist says, how about trying a 2 week supply to see if it doesn't make you want to fly off the roof before chipping away at that non-generic drug deductible. Brilliant. So tomorrow is the first day of my life, or at least the first day of the next year (or so they claim that I can take this shit for about a year, get better and then get off it) of my life. 364 to go.