It’s been a Lexapro weekend.  As in I probably ought to be back on it.  This weekend (well, “weekend”) has been an utter shitshow; I’ve alternated useless-and-exhausted with unfocused, pointless rage for much of he last two days.  I just now managed to put away about two weeks worth of clothes and other than feeding the dog today that counts as the one thing I’ve managed to do that was good for anybody other than me.  And it only barely counts because I know my wife is tired of looking at my laundry in the bedroom all the time.

The house is a fucking mess.  It’d be nice if I was either a grown-up or on the right brain meds and could make myself do something about it.  Hell, it’d be nice if I knew which fucking one was the problem.

Don’t bother with sympathy, I’m not much in the mood for it.  Just let me rant.