not the motorcycle diaries

I’ve been the sleepy kind for as long as I can remember (all the evidence can be found here), or possibly just since I swapped a glittering career in the non-government community sector (official term - brilliant, isn’t it) for at least 10 more years of studying.

The sleepiness is apparently, in part, due to my psychotropic of choice, paroxetine, which I have been taking for about 3 years. However, I have had an impromptu break from it (you wouldn’t think forgetfulness was a side-effect, would you) these past few days and still had trouble staying awake for more than about six hours at a time. I also managed to cry my eyes out last night over the final episode of Vincent: the full story (he died in Theo’s arms! Theo died six months later! And the ivy … oh, the IVY! I’ve seen that ivy! et cetera), and develop an unhealthy TV crush on Waldemar Januszczak (pictured).

Sadly though (?!), my rampaging emotions are now back under the watchful eye of above mentioned daily chemical constellation, meaning I have to face the horrific reality that my sleepiness is not due to burgeoning narcolepsy (glamorous) but to a high-carb, low-iron diet combined with regular caffeine peaking and troughing (unfathomable). Perhaps I should join a gym.

The end.

PS I’m writing all this from my bedroom, as the beautiful strains of Holly and Jens rehearsing their beautiful music wafts down the stairs. I am roasting tomatoes, eggplant, garlic and capsicum for a pasta sauce in the kitchen. Really - I’m utterly blessed.