New and interesting ways of fucking up

I usually try to never make the same mistake twice. That often leads to the title of this blog entry.

I just got over a major depressive bout (I'm still in the fragile stages FYI) and discovered that my breathing problems might just be because I'm actually having lung trouble rather than emotional issues.

It's a process of elimination, folks.

Experiencing breathing difficulty:

  • Is it a rhinovirus? Nope. Got over that.
  • Is it depression? Nope. Got over that (mostly).
  • Is it my asthma fucking me up again? Probably.

The good news is that I'm on a new puffer and trying out a different medication regime which involves staying the fuck away from Ventolin.

The bad news is that the new puffer stuff tastes like slightly-off peaches. BLAH.

BUT it doesn't make my heart feel like it's trying to escape my chest and that's a good thing. Slightly-off-peach taste is small beans compared to -you know- actually breathing. Air is good. No air is bad.

And it's nothing like the really-off-cherry taste of kiddies' medicine that managed to put me off cherries for the rest of my life. I still want peaches. In fact. I want peaches and ice cream and ice magic. And it's probably good for my waistline that I'm currently too invested in writing and drawing today to actually go and prepare it.

...which is probably bad for me, because I need to eat. But I also need to eat good food and not just tasty junk.