Dec. 3rd, 2011

mary: Edward biting Bella in her dream ([twilight] bella dreams)
It's trite for me to blame all the problems I have with writing at the moment on my medication level. There are other factors as well, because there are always other factors. But I knew before I increased the dose that it would be more difficult for me to produce creative work with more effexor in my system.

That's why I started dropping back my dose, back almost two years ago now. I wasn't comfortable with the numbness I felt, and even more than that I hated the way that fiction had become a struggle.

Right now it's not just fiction that's a struggle. I have all these thoughts that I want to articulate but they skitter away when I try to sharped and order them. I don't like this. I don't like it at all. But on the lower dose, I wasn't any more creative than I am now. I was too miserable to be creative.

I wish I knew the answer. I wish I felt more optimistic that there was an answer to know at all.

On brighter topics, last weekend I went up to Sydney to stay with some of my favourite people for a couple of nights. They have a gorgeous chilled-out little home of sunshine and a sort of boho rock-and-roll peacefulness that was absolutely lovely to spend time in. We ate haloumi pizza and stayed up late and slept in late and went to see Breaking Dawn, sitting in the back row so nobody could kick us when we wisecracked and laughed.

That movie is so terrible-fantastic I can't properly explain it. I legitimately enjoy the first film, but... well, a good way to explain the difference between the first film and where the series goes after that is to say that there's a big difference between having a teenage girl do an internet search for vampire mythology because the strange boy in her class seems to fit the symptoms, and having a vampire dude do an internet search for demon babies because his wife is having one. And then he uses the image-search function to look at Henry Fuseli's The Nightmare. Which, uh, isn't actually a picture of a demon baby, Edward, you stupid chump.

Anyway! Yes, so. Breaking Dawn. Then we went to the Harry Potter Exhibition at the Powerhouse Museum, which was wonderful. I really am going to get an Expecto Patronum tattoo, eventually. The feelings I have about the third novel are not feelings I properly express when I try to talk about it, suffice to say I will probably always seek out a little bar of dark chocolate on days when I am feeling especially bleak and unhappy.

We did karaoke that night, which remains a pleasure I will only ever enjoy with this particular bunch of ladies when we get together for nonsense. It takes a particular hue of friendship to sing Adam Lambert and Savage Garden songs at the top of one's lungs with ten other people in a tiny soundproof room full of cupcakes and alcohol.

It was a really, really lovely weekend, and made me appreciate just how full my life is of good, worthwhile things.

The sun's coming up right now, and I can hear the birds outside. Audrey's asleep in the other room and I want to remember how to write things and I'm scared that I won't ever be able to again. I'm so scared. But, for now, most of the other stuff is going pretty okay. I'm glad the higher dose of meds helps me see just how good I've got it, all told.

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mary: A picture of a woman sitting in front of a stained glass window, from Tarantino's Inglourious Basterds (Default)
Isn't moral anarchy kind of the point?

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