What the truth is…lies and coverup and forced drugging

I’m not sure…but I feel that I am being forced to take this medication…told that I have to take it and that I have no choice….Told that if I don’t, I am screwed, basically.

Well, I took one of those pills last night, and slept only two hours.  Dr. P kept telling me these pills will make me feel oh so much better, however, I feel like crap, as you can imagine.  I feel like the waking dead, kinda like, as I have told Dr. P in the past, someone is holding toothpicks (as they used to show in the cartoons) in my eyelids to keep my eyes open, to keep me awake. When I am on this Abilify I am unable to sleep even in a state of complete exhaustion.  The higher the dose, the worse it gets.  I took only 5 mgs last night.  Jeepers, that was only one pill.  I can’t stay on this, and I can’t “disobey” Dr. P. This is forced drugging.  I can’t ask her to switch me to a different antispsychotic because then she will put me on fucking Seroquel or some other “weight-gainer,” something nightmarish to me.  No one with an eating disorder in their current or past should ever be forced onto medication that puts weight on them.  Or some med that gives me Tardive Dyskinesia.

So that’s happening.  Forced onto meds the are fucking up my sleep.

The hospital gave me, I guess what you would call, in plain English, BAD CARE in 2011, and they are lying about it and covering it up, denying that it ever happened.

The whole time that I was there, I had no visitors.  You know something?  I almost died then, having starved myself, making myself thin.   The irony was killing me.  I was all alone, lying in that bed, being glared at by those “sitters” with no witnesses.  My roommate was dying of cancer, and every day her Loving Family came to see her, they surrounded her with hugs and cards and stuff.  They showed up and stayed into the night, and there were so many doctors and specialists in to see her, pain specialists and the like.

Oh yeah, my therapist came, which I thought was “great,” but I did not realize then that she was discussing this “state hospital” plan with the hospital staff behind my back.  It was revealed to me a couple of months later, told that it had been in the works.  So she would come see me.  She was trying to get me institutionalized.

So I left, traumatized, I ended up there twice, the second time not as bad but still bad enough, and still no one believing me, and finally suffering with trauma I had to go to another hospital to be treated for trauma because of the trauma I had experienced from the Bad Care.

At hospital #2, they believed me, I told them how bad it was.  They believed what I said.  I told them about the peepholes and everything.  And the guy that kept taking off his clothes.  You know there are guys like that at psych units.  You gotta laugh…or you will cry.  They kept telling him he needed to put his freaking clothes back on.  I suppose if you’ve been around as long as I have, you will end up seeing a guy take his clothes off at least once or twice.


Folks, I am not the only one who was either threatened “state hospital” or sent there.  There have been other patients.  I have witnessed this and heard stories and the hospital staff tried to shut up the patient who was telling the story to me last July!

So now…

I have told you Mass  General stated they gave me bad care in July-August 2011.  As it unfolded.

They refused to give me a therapist based on “insurance” this past spring.  And I wrote this here in my blog.  Dr. P says it’s a bad thing for me to write this?  It’s a bad thing to say how sad it is that people can’t get care in the big rich USA?  Here in Boston, the Medical Hub of the Universe?  It’s not okay to say it out loud?

Do you understand that insurance can dictate life and death in our country?  Do you understand how badly that sucks?

Dr. P says the Five Fundamental Rights are trivial.  Not important.  And she even said at one point that they did not exist?  Folks, it’s incredible that our state even has Patient Rights.  At other states, patients die because they don’t have the same laws we have here in Massachusetts.  So right now, they are talking about a Sixth Right.  If I didn’t have my eating disorder, I’d probably be following all this more, and getting more active in this stuff.  But I keep swearing up and down and promising and crossing my fingers about changing the world.  And I guess in a big way,  that phone booth up there at Alcott is proof that NEVER, EVER SHUTTING UP can indeed change things.

So folks, keep on talking. Keep writing.  Don’t stop.  Tell your stories.  Write down what happened to you.  Remember all the bullshit and write it.  Yes, all the Bad Care.  All the times they put you in restraints illegally, all the times they yanked you around as if you were a dog on a choke collar, cuz you know it happened.  All the times you were thrown into empty rooms, all the times you were stripped down and your stuff was taken from you, your valuables lost and never returned to you, please, tell everything.  Why?  Because there is no reason not to.

I am being denied care because they are afraid of my writing.  Yep.  They are scared.  They lied to Dr. P.  What they told her was not true.  Of course, she herself was not involved in my inpatient treatment while I was there anyway.  Is any of this legal?


I am screamingly funny, Puzzle is the cutest and life is a big joke

Well, yes, it’s true….I’ve got a darn cute dog.  We were out today and she got an awful lot of cuteness compliments.  I told folks she always wins those types of contests.  Just joking around.  Saying that I was older than her, you know, she being only six-and-a-half, you can kinda tell that maybe I am a little older than that.

Someone said, “You are only as old as you feel.”

Well, tell that to the insurance companies.  Tell that to the drug makers.  Tell that to Dr. P.

So I walked into my appointment today pretty much knowing what I was gonna hear.  That she is leaving her practice at the big hospital where she works.

So instead of going in there wicked early today, I sat outside the big place and enjoyed the outdoors, me and Puzzle, just hangin’ for a bit.  Yep, that’s about when Puzzle got the compliments.   I’m telling you, she was obsessed about this piece of gum on the ground that someone had spat out, just staring at the darned thing for quite a while.  I know she was thinking about nabbing it.  Dogs love gross stuff.

I do recall that was a topic earlier, at a church get-together.  Someone said her dog had rolled in poop and then she had hosed her dog down.  I believe that started off our conversation.  Now, how weird is that?  The conversation went on to the topic of me, myself, eventually, that is, Julie, and I guess the folks who were there were drinking tea and telling me I am depressed and isolated and never leave the house and stuff  like that.  We have an agreement that we don’t talk about what’s talked about outside of there, but I think the rolling in poop thing is rather universal and…screamingly funny…which is why I think nobody minds me sharing it right now.   And the me part is me, so I can tell you.  And you know already about me hanging around here and not going out, if you’ve been reading this blog for a bit.

So I guess I cried my eyes out.  Which may or may not have been a good thing.   You guys know I think crying is pretty much okay and right and healthy and if you start to cry, you sure got the right to do it and it ain’t against any law.  That’s the cool thing about crying.  It doesn’t hurt anyone to do it, and you can cry pretty much anywhere.  You can cry on a bus, and no one will notice cuz they are busy with their cell phones and ipods.  You can cry yourself to sleep, and the next morning, you might not remember except there will be little goo spots on your pillowcase, and then you’ll tell yourself, “Oh, gee, yeah, some asshole was mean to me yesterday,” or whatever the reason was that you were crying about. Or you will get to your desk and see the damn credit card bill you were crying about and start crying all over again realizing you still have to pay some of it.  Or you might wake up in the middle of the night and feel your dog on top of you and realize, “Gee, what a miracle, I am alive and breathing,” which was pretty much what I said to myself in the middle of the night last night for whatever reason.

Which I did not tell Dr. P.  No, I hardly told her anything, because I got a damn lecture when I finally reached her office. I suppose I never know exactly what to expect from these appointments.  And as I write this right now, I realize she’s gonna come to this site and read these words,  maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow. So I’d better be screamingly funny and make it all worth her while.  Yes, Dr. P spoke about me and my writing stuff online.

Oh, Dr. P, I have never called you anything else.  Cuz I know I’d get in trouble if I called you Dr. Poop if that in fact was your real name, but it isn’t.

Dr. P, don’t you realize the hospital is lying to you, covering its ass about the abuse in 2011?  If they in fact had been limiting me to four glasses of water a day due to “dangerously low sodium, due to polydipsia….” which is what you said today….No, this does not add up.  Do you want to know why?

Dr. P, you said you had put me on “suicide watch,” while I was on a medical floor.  Okay, that in the first place was not right, but I am not going to argue that right now.  So I was being watched 24/7, followed constantly, right?  I was too weak to walk on my own, and I never went to a canteen, so I was brought everything I drank by the nursing staff.  If I recall correctly, I inspected everything they brought me.  I made sure everything they brought was calorie-free, so every can of diet ginger ale had to be unopened.  I insisted on this, and if the can was opened already by the nurse, I would not drink it for fear that the nurse had snuck in some sugar or something with calories to fatten me up while I was not looking.  Anyone with a severe eating disorder might have this fear.   I also insisted that the vegetables not have butter on them, but the butter be on the side.  Again, folks with eating disorders are like this.  You folks with eating disorders know this deal well.

So everything I ate and drank was controlled by the nursing staff, Dr. P.  How could polydipsia occur?  If I were drinking too much, they would just have decided to stop bringing stuff, or just said, “Julie, you can’t have any more.”  I remember I came in severely dehydrated and they were very happy that I was finally drinking things.  Upon my arrival, I was immediately given two bags of fluids, rapidly, in the ER.  And if this were true, why was I not told this once?  I was not once told in the psych unit that my sodium was “dangerously low” and I was instead many times told “four eight-ounce bottles of water is protocol for eating disorders patients on this unit” and given no medical reason for this “protocol.”  Once, I was told it was to “prevent edema,” and once, I was told it had something to do with “refeeding syndrome” and I was repeatedly told that this was some kind of torture that I had to endure or like some kind of religious discipline, not drinking water the way I had taught myself at home to stay away from food.

Well, fuck you, all you doctors.  All of you.  Sometime around when I was 27, a doctor named Charles Capers (probably dead, so it doesn’t matter now about fucking liability) never checked my lithium level, and was practicing without a license anyway (no, I had no clue, nor did my parents, who were paying him a fortune probably because he refused to do his fucking insurance paperwork because he couldn’t…with no license, right?) so my kidneys got kinda messed up.  Now, back then, folks, lotsa patients ended up with wrecked up kidneys, cuz a lot of doctors were not particularly careful with lithium.  So lots of us ended up with lithium-induced nephrogenic diabetes insipidus.  That’s what I have.  It means not too much except your kidneys don’t work right anymore.  Permanently.   And folks like us have to drink a lot of water to make up for it.  Do you hear me loud and clear?  Our kidneys spit out too much water.  That’s why I am thirsty a lot more than most people.  The thirst I feel is natural and right and it’s my own body telling me the right thing to do and I’ve done it all my life.  I’ve never particularly thought about it until your fucking hospital decided to torture me by limiting me to four tiny bottles a day.  And yeah, if I’d stayed and not left AMA, I would have shriveled up like…remember that orange in that show…when they were all arguing…Gilligan’s Island?  When they were arguing about vitamin C and who was going to have that last orange? Who was the most important and deserving of that one vital orange, the one that contained Vitamin C, and while they were all sitting there arguing over the fucking orange, it shriveled up into nothing?  Yes, Dr. P.  Julie Greene right there on that fucking psych unit holding her pencil, writing about everything that was happening around her, making sure everything that happened to her got recorded, because she felt for some reason the world should know, would have shriveled up just like that orange.

So who is most important, most deserving of that vital last bit of life?  If you could change one thing in your life, make one thing different, what would it be?  If you could change the world, what would you change?

Imagine: world peace.  If you could only say the words, WORLD PEACE, and this would make this thing, world peace, happen, imagine this.

Now imagine, if you could make yourself happy by saying, “I am happy.”  Imagine that for a moment.

Imagine nobody ever having to live on fucking 844 dollars a month.  Imagine that.  Imagine never being told this is what you “deserve.”  Imagine saying, “There is no bullying in the world.”  And presto.  Bullying no longer exists.  Anywhere.

Wow, I am saying that what you say is powerful, ladies.  Personal is political.

So Puzzle and I came home.  On the bus ride, I made a few phone calls.  Told my minister I was looking forward to doing a bunch of writing.   Told him at least I have a lot to write about.

And folks, I have been denied care by the big hospital because I of liability.  No, not because of any medical reason, but because I will not shut my trap.  And I do not intend to.  Yes, I’ve been denied care because of my words.  Right here.

Never, ever shut up.

I will not back down.

And I don’t want you to, either.




I want to be famous: the 2013 Boston Marathon massacre in Watertown, MA from the point of view of a Watertown dog owner living in low-income housing nearby

I am writing this Friday night and it’s pretty much all over.  They’ve got the guy (don’t ask me to spell his name) in custody and there are tweets all over the place.  I don’t have a Twitter account cuz Twitter seems dumb to me, but that’s what I hear.  Yep, tweets.

Imagine: Two kids stopped our transit system and had the cities of Boston, Newton, Belmont, here in Watertown, and I guess even further out in Waltham in lockdown, all the hospitals and college campuses too.  Now have even any of our sports teams done that?  Of course not.   Not even when the Red Sox won the World  Series in 2004 for the first time since God-knows-when…oh yeah, that even got me in tears…but no, that didn’t stop our transit system or lock down hospitals.  There may have been crazy parties, but these guys are freaking famous.

I’m jealous.  Yeah, I think I am.

I’ve always wanted to be famous, ever since I was a tiny child.  Always loved to be in the limelight.  I’ve never been scared to get up in front of an audience.  I guess that’s why it didn’t take long for me to love performing in plays when I was in elementary school.  I always wanted to be a star.

I love being funny, reading my writings (hence this blog) in front of audiences and making them laugh.  Or cry.  Or moving them or disturbing them in some way.  I feel that shaking the world and making my footprint on the world, that’s my job as writer.

I want to make a damn big footprint.  I want to shake the world in its boots like these kids did.  I want to scare people good.

So I am sitting here in my little apartment that I pay one-third of what the government has decided I “deserve” because some thirty-some-odd years ago I developed, of all things, an eating disorder, and ask myself, “How the hell can I be as fantastic as these two brothers, who have these wonderful odd names I can’t even spell, and my name is so ordinary, Julie Greene?”

Wow, was that ever a run-on sentence.  I sure broke some writing rules there.  But the writing gods don’t bother with us here in this complex.  We’re all invisible here.  I’m sure all the attention is focused on Franklin Street, a few blocks away.  The kid needs all the gods to help him, now, even the lowly writing gods.

Yesterday I wrote about the funniest thing ever

Our church talent show is coming up, and I thought I was too exhausted and sick this year to participate.  Well, no, ain’t true at all.  I plan to show up.  Of course I will.  I started writing yesterday, got a bad case of writer’s high, and went with it.  Almost died laughing.

I think the thing’s funny.  Or I hope it is.

Meanwhile, Lesson One is all written and I didn’t video it yesterday cuz I had to go grocery shopping.  I figured out that I can use my Vimeo membership and upload Lesson One there, and then embed it onto the eatingdisordersrescue.com site, or use html, so I won’t have to split the film into two parts.  If I use You-Tube, I’ll have to split it into two due to time restrictions.  If I split it up, folks might just give up after the first part or not be able to find the sequel, or just get bored. I sure don’t want to be boring or stupid.

After all, they’re watching some 55-year-old not-so-great-looking-anymore hippie nut, not Oprah after all.  She’s more fascinating.  Nor are they watching some doctor with credentials and statistics and a lab coat.  Or someone young and pretty and skinny showing us just how skinny they ended up and how they “recovered”…or died…or whatever.   Many of these films are very well done, of course, I’m not knocking them.

But anyway, I’ll do my thing and hopefully it will be helpful to someone.  That’s the point.

Gee, I love being a memoirist

I have spent forever and ever writing Lesson One for my new site and I will spend forever and ever filming it.  I wonder if the writing gods will kill me for committing some writing sins when I wrote it.

I love breaking rules.  I love that I was born a rebel.  I ain’t stopped yet.

My dad will be proud of me.  First of all, I’m damn good with computers and such.  Well, I have phoned tech support and asked some my share of very, very dumb questions.  Haven’t we all?  But never mind that.

What if there were a tech support line to God?  Now, what kinds of stupid questions would God get?

Can you imagine all the stupid questions the writing gods would get?

Oh yeah, I can hear all the questions now about submissions deadlines.

Probably the writing gods sleep on the job, just like the night staff at psych hospitals, right?  That’s why they apply for the job in the first place, so they can sleep all night.  We used to watch them at McLean every night.  This lady, right at the beginning of the shift, she’d get two chairs together, get her pillows and blankets, and lay the blankets on the chair and her pillows just so.   The three staff would order all of us into our rooms and tell us we had to stay in there and not get out until 6am.

Whenever I’d peek outside my room, that lady would be asleep there in her chair, with her pillows and blankets.  What was she dreaming about all night long?  She was asleep just like the writing gods, just doing the job she was hired for, so ask them.

Regarding blogs and persona

When I learned about memoir, I learned that a memoir is not a book about a person’s entire life, but a small fraction of that life.  So This Hunger Is Secret is about tiny bits of my life and not the whole of my life.  There are huge chunks that I deliberately left out.  I didn’t do this to be deceptive.  I did this so that This Hunger Is Secret would be a cohesive story, a whole.

My blog is the same way.  I don’t tell the world everything, just the parts I want to talk about, only a fraction, the parts I feel comfortable sharing and the parts I feel are worth sharing and are helpful to others.

When I learned stand-up comedy, I learned about PERSONA.  This is what we show the world.  Persona is not who we are inside.  It is the stage person.  We can change our persona.  Some comedians have different personas and they change from one persona to another at will, or the persona evolves over time.  The persona can be honed and perfected.  Most important is that the persona is switched on and off appropriately.

Everyone has this mask, this persona, on different levels.  It can also be called “online presence.”  You can be a certain way, and act a certain way on Facebook, for instance, a way that isn’t you necessarily.  Maybe you are more funny, or more cheerful, or more anectdotal, or you censor what you write or edit or spell-check your words.  I’ll bet you do.

So what you see of me isn’t necessarily the same as what I’m like in real life.  Folks don’t realize this. Not at all.  A lot of people come here to my blog and tell themselves, “Let’s see if Julie has recovered yet.”  And they go and take a peek.  They say to themselves, “Nope, she’s still a bitch,” they x me out, and decide they won’t go back and recheck my blog again for another few months cuz they are disgusted with me.  They decide it won’t be worth it to rekindle any kind of relationship with me due to what they see in my blog.  What they don’t realize is that what they see in my blog is not necessarily who I am on the inside.  Rather, they see the persona.

Trust me, I’ve lost a lot of friendships, and a lot of people have judged me and dumped me because they don’t bother talking to me, they just read my blog and jump to conclusions that this is the way I am in real life.

For one thing, I don’t walk around living and breathing anorexia nervosa.  I’m a rather private person.  There are a lot of skinny people on the planet for all kinds of reasons.  It’s nobody’s business and I intend to keep it that way.  Sure, I’ll reveal it, but I do so if I think talking about it will help another person.

In real life, I’m extremely funny.  Puzzle is very, very cute.  So we are quite a pair.

I think it’s true for anyone who does anything online when you think of it.  They have an “online presence” that is a persona, the way they present themselves to the world.  It is only a fraction of who they are.  It is the part of themselves that shows through the screen name.

What handles or screen names have you used?  Why do you use them?

I was once called Q, but my username vanished long ago.  I don’t think anyone calls me Q anymore, or even thinks of me by that name.   The persona went “poof!”  I guess that can happen online, with the click of a mouse.

Handles come and go, but I keep on being me.  I do change and I do grow.  I’m someone out of cyberspace you don’t even know, especially if you’ve judged me solely by this blog.

I write

When they all think you’re crazy anyway
And you’re starting to get burnt out
The words don’t come out right anymore
Nothing makes sense anymore
Not that it really matters

All the talk
Folks saying, “Stay away from her, she’s trouble.”
Not the kind of person you want to have as a friend
She’ll jerk you around
She has problems
Unhealthy for daily contact
Belongs in a mental institution
Her dog should be taken away from her
I’m warning you, stay away
Stay away from her.

Which is why I don’t go anywhere or do anything with humans these days.

Everyone’s been warned about me already, so what’s the point?

Word got around real fast, “She’s a bitch.   You can’t get too close to her.   If she calls, don’t answer.”

Anyway, I found out a few things.  The REAL reason I was sectioned last July.  Someone wanted to shut me up real bad. I’m serious, guys.  I have evidence.  It adds up.  Does this sound like paranoia to you?  Well, when I ended up in treatment, I got fucking NO TREATMENT!  There was no treatment available and the treatment was not paid for and they did not want me on the unit.  I am fucking NOT WANTED everywhere I go!  So why the hell did they section me?  To shut me up, that’s why!  Because I have INFORMATION, folks.  That information (or, rather, maybe you could say a “statement”) got buried after I got locked up.  Which was what the person wanted.  And the person is reading this, trust me.

Hey, I don’t shut up so easily.

Catch me if you can….

I write.

Regarding the yWriter software

Okay, first some background info: I am a writer, a memoirist, with an MFA degree.  I’d say as writers go I tend not to suffer from writer’s block and tend to be well-disciplined as far as keeping a work schedule goes.  I work hard at times and really had to do so when I earned my degree and when I did Nano (National Novel Writing Month) in 2009 and 2010.

Enter anorexia nervosa.  Now mind you, it’s a big deal.  I am okay now and I eat fine, as of a couple of months ago, but you could say the disease left some marks on me.  I am much more fortunate than many.  At least I’m alive.  But my brain doesn’t work right and it’s frustrating.  Starvation fries your thinking.  Between my doctors and me, we don’t know if this is permanent or if I’ll get my abilities back.  But for now, with Nano coming, I’ve got what I’ve got and I’m dealing with it.

What you do is you adapt.  Do you hear me?  Adapt.  Because that’s how you survive.  No, I did not say compromise or settle for second best.  You gather up everything that you can, and you do your darndest.

I have recently downloaded yWriter, which is free software.  I cannot tell you how invaluable this software is.  I must say, it is a helpful tool for me now that my organizational ability seems to be lacking.  yWriter is like a filing cabinet.  I wouldn’t call it “writing software.”  It’s kind of a databank or organizational tool, and has sort of a word processor built into it in case you want to write material directly into it, which I think you will want to do unless you’re just copying and pasting into it.  I don’t find this program difficult to use at all.

Think of it this way: People who have trouble seeing use glasses.  People who still have trouble seeing use screen magnifiers when they use the computer.  So when I use yWriter, it’s like a screen magnifier, like a tool for someone who has trouble getting their brain to organize the material that they are writing.

yWriter is meant to be used to write novels, but I am using it to organize the short speech I am giving October 21st in Cambridge, MA.  I suspect there will be hundreds in the audience, not sure yet, though.  So I want my speech to be good.  With yWriter, I can rearrange paragraphs and groups of paragraphs very quickly, and use the software to view summaries of what I have just written (I write these summaries myself, the software doesn’t come up with them).

Of course, I am also trying to use yWriter for my Nano book.  But right now, I’m focusing more on the speech and find that the software is working brilliantly for it.

Yes, you can call it an “off-label” use for this software.

We do what we can with what we have.

You are sitting in a room with a shiny pair of crutches.  What are you going to do, try to walk without crutches, and fall, or pick up the shiny crutches and walk to where you need to go?

Now you might say that this is an argument for taking all sorts of antidepressants and the like.  No, I did not say that the crutches have nasty spikes in the sides that poke you every time you take a step.  These are called “side effects.”  With crutches like that, you may want to consider some alternatives.

Just sayin’.

Here is the page for yWriter5: http://www.spacejock.com/yWriter5.html

Please tell me what you think!  I’ll keep you updated.

My liver levels are off, I am tired, and I may choose not to go to NC

Okay, the good and the bad…..

The Good: I am psychologically well off, never depressed, never lonely, never manic, basically okay mood-wise.  I think I have depression beat.  I am never in an anguished state and I am not dependent on humans to get by.   I am not in any intense relationships.  I do not have a love partner and I do not have a best buddy or best friend and I do not have daily contact with any one person.  I do not have phone contact or skype contact with anyone, either.  This is not something I miss.  I talk to strangers all the time and enjoy this.  One of my biggest strengths is my sense of humor.  I am increasingly confident out in public.

The Bad: My doctor phoned me and says my liver levels are off.  My thyroid is a bit off as well but she says we’ll let it go for now and test it again in a month.  She said my liver levels were okay in July.  We think it has to do with my past eating disorder.

I also discussed my cognitive deficits with Dr. P when I met with her on Wednesday.  This is something that is not only noticeable to me, but noticeable to her.  The problem could be permanent, or it could clear up.  We discussed eating a lot of protein and fat to help my brain heal.  It could take years before my thinking clears.

As a result, I have an awful lot of trouble writing.  I procrastinate.  I lose things.  I can’t explain anything to anyone.  People say I don’t make sense when I speak.

My body does not want to sleep.  We think also that this is due to my past eating disorder.  Most people with eating disorders cannot sleep and take medication to help them sleep.  The medication masks the problem.  I find that the meds do not help, dope me up too much, or create eating problems for me, so I will not take pills for sleep.  Herbal tea seems to be more effective, so I’ve been using that over the past couple of weeks. I also find that eating a lot of protein helps my sleep.  I’ve had to resort to eating meat.  I’m okay with this.  I’m not eating processed food or anything you’d call “junk food.”  The more I concentrate on including protein in every meal, the better I sleep.  I avoid corn because I am pretty sure I’m allergic to it.  I do eat plenty of legumes but I avoid canned beans due to the high salt content and additives.  I am leery of many additives now that my doctor said there is a problem with my liver levels.

In North Carolina, I am going to be expected to work five hours a day, six days a week.  With my current sleep problem, I tend to conk out during the day.  While writing (if I get around to writing at all) I fall asleep mid-sentence, and am forced to lie down and sleep for 45 minutes or so.  I rarely even finish a writing project.  I require a daily nap.  At this rate, there is no way I can work five hours a day, six days a week.

I am seeing both my shrink and my primary care doctor within the next two weeks and I will make a decision.  I didn’t pay all that much for the plane tix, and I have insurance on them.  We shall see.

My new book

Wow, I just discovered these journal entries from last year.  I love these writings and there’s no reason they can’t be included in my new book as historical records of someone’s experience in a tough inner-city emergency room.  I’ve got all the entries in a “category” and they come up together.  You need to scroll backwards I think.  The link I’m providing is to the  beginning page.  The first in the series is posted first, so you need to scroll up.


I also discovered some e-mails I never sent and voice recordings I made.