Well, last night was kind of unpleasant, as I tried to take the Effexor on a mostly empty stomach. Not a good idea, but I haven't had much of an appetite, so it's a conundrum. I ate a few strips of bacon and some halvah, which doesn't really constitute a dinner. It's at moments like these when my boyfriend, an excellent cook, gets completely frustrated with me, to the point of disgust. The way he looks at me when I say I'm not hungry is like I'm covered in some stinky goo that's eating away at my skin. Shock. Horror. Repulsion. He doesn't understand people who don't eat.

I'm still a little shaky this morning, but I'm less tired. I think it's going to be okay. True, the adjustment's taking a little while, but I think it's going to work out. My optimism is borne of an eternal ability to put things in perspective. Like, yes, this is somewhat tricky and a mite uncomfortable but it's nothing like being in Auschwitz or having cancer.

So cheer up!