A step to somewhere

I suppose I should update. I've been gone a week, and really haven't said much of my trip.

It was, truth be told, fairly rainy, snowy, and not entirely co-operative. The weather, anyway. I did take some pictures, but I'm too tired to post them up right now. So maybe look for them in the coming days. Or don't, it's your choice.

Other than that, I really don't have a lot else to say. My French, as usual, is incredibly bad. Yes. No. Hello. Goodbye. What? Sorry. That's my vocabulary. Punctuated by a plethora of expletives.

Maybe the real trip was when I got home. It's only been two days, and in those two days, I've taken almost 2000 mg's of assorted painkillers. Not all at once, mind you, but still. That's a lot of shit. I'm considering seeing a doctor about it, but knowing them, they'd just prescribe me bigger pills for bigger doses. I get frequent headaches, that's no mystery. Most are weather related, but lately, it seems like a lot of them are having less and less to do with the weather and more and more with... nothing. Inexplicable.

Maybe I'll get lucky and they'll find a brain tumour that gives me psychic powers. Maybe.
A bit of good news would be a major uplift right now, but really, I don't know if I could care. I could be given three weeks to live, and from today, I don't even know if that would be enough to motivate me.

Lethargy, I think, is the medical term for it. Lethargy, and apathy. And they fix both with pills.

I'm torn. I've wanted to walk into a clinic to get some help for a while, but the stigmas, not to mention the fact that psychological medicine is still in its early infancy, have stayed my hand. I don't need people staring and judging, nor do I need to be prescribed a drug that might help, but might also further fuck up the problem, whatever it may be. It's like having a Russian engineer working on an engine. He kicks the engine. Sometimes it works, and the engine starts. But more often than not, he just breaks it more.

Do I really need to step in with this shit? Or should I just buck up and be a man and face my issues down with a gaze of steel and a stiff upper lip?

In all honesty, I've grown pretty tired of toughing shit out. It gets to a point where I start scaring myself with my ability to shrug things off. That, and sleeping for 12 hours and still feeling exhausted is just great. You know. Shit gets done.

I sometimes wonder if it's a mystery illness that's spreading. A kind of sociological illness that passes from one person to the next as a kind of reaction to the way we've been going. I look at current events, and I can't help but notice how heavy my eyelids get.

It's just too much sometimes, I think. And it's only the worse because I'm alone in it. Maybe that'll change. More than likely it won't.