Here’s one of a series of simple little posts. Nothing too taxing. This series just contains recommendations for some music to change your mind. This time it’s King Tubby, the dub genius (with special added Rodigan)
I’ve made some images during the breaks from the side-effect of the translation between SSRI to SNRI. So far these have included a fabulous and complete anxiety; a newer, harder, sobbing depression, or both; the ongoing insomnia; when I do sleep that hateful and increasingly realistic dreams. From what I understand these side-effects will pass in the next few days. So, I’m sticking with the Mirtazapine.
The new album is in work. Here’s a sniff of the first track: Year-C 01 (Calmly Does It)
he reason for the new med is that it eschews serotonin with its high-speed, hip-cool, late night, dancehall reputation. My new drug focuses on Norepinephrine (aka noradrenaline, the Janus neurotransmitter that it is). Noradrenaline isn’t in any way cool, but I hope that the pills might be.
“Well, that was nice. That was fun. I enjoyed that. That means that the next thing to happen will be dreadful. It is inevitable. I deserve it.”
However, there’s foreknowledge (she had that), there’s understanding (she has lots of that) and then there’s actually having to experience the kind of dull, crazed behaviour I’m currently exhibiting.
A not quite journal about trying get through a time of ups and downs with no chemical assistance for the first time in several decades.…
OK, I admit it, this happens to everybody at all ages. However, when you’re setting controls for the heart of the cardiac unit, and you actually are more interested in the articles than the pictures – even though the text is too small to read – you just know that it’s never going to happen.
English person I knew… in the world. We also called avocados, ‘avocado pears’, the Labour Party was ‘electable’, The Children’s Film Foundation was ‘The British Film Industry’ and Punk Rock was ‘genuinely shocking and subversive and not mostly full of small ‘c’ conservatives who would later live in abject terror of any change whatsoever’.
Though not as packed with anxious parents and carers, medical staff and cleaners as it would be in a few hours, the hospital was still populated by that mix of worried and joyful adults that is peculiar to children’s wards and hospitals. The atmosphere was hopeful. I’ve found the same to be true on neuro wards but that’s a story for another time.