I just got back from the psychiatrist's office. As I suspected, we did talk a lot about my stupid hang-ups, like not wanting to clean my apartment. But I also mentioned that I'm going to the "regular" doctor tomorrow to talk about my night sweats and increased migraines. Though I asked him last week, and he said no, this week my shrink said that the night sweats (and my sweatiness in general) are probably a result of the Effexor. Damn.

"Do you want to stop taking it?" he asked.

"No way," I said.

"Good," he said, clearly relieved.

This, ladies and gents, is what they call the defining moment in mental-health pharmacology. You take a medication. It makes you better. Then the side effects get bad. What do you do?

I'm going to sweat, thanks very much, and I'll be happy about it too. I was ready to kill myself a few months ago. Now I wake up in the middle of the night damp and cold, but I actually want to live to see the next morning.

Meeting with the shrink: $125
Effexor co-pay: $10
Not wanting to blow my brains out every 12 seconds: Priceless.