My tolerance, FTR, is terrible. Had a couple of glasses of wine with dinner and am two-thirds of the way through a beer, all over the last for hours. I’m feeling comfortable.
Over at Jack and Rachel’s. We’ve met a lot of lizards and three cats. Were over at John’s aunts for dinner. It was mostly very nice, although after…
There was some stuff about how if twenty percent of the population has a “mental disease” then obviously it’s time to get the psychiatrists to adjust their definitions. And a description of a comedy about four people living in a house, two guys and two girls, each with a different mental illness, that sounded really funny. Until she heard the second ad for it and realized it was a documentary trying to demystify mental illness, and… well, that just didn’t sound as interesting.
I completely defend someone’s right to not watch something they’re not interested in. At the same time, it’d be nice to not feel like I was being lumped into the category of one of those people. Those funny, self-indulgent punchlines. You know the ones.
Pretty sure none of them know I’m on medication. I need to be on medication.
I generally try not to hide that I suffer from depression. Mind, I couldn’t quite manage to find a way to point out that I’m one of that twenty percent (whose claim of being ill is obviously suspect, but I’m not bitter).
I suppose that isn’t very interesting to hear about either.