Insanity sucks

I slept about 10 hours last night and woke up tired. 

It's my new normal.   I'm.  Going. To.  Be.  Tired.  I don't like it, who would? 

Insanity sucks a lot more. 

I like the life I have.  People tell me I'm funny.  Ron says he loves the way I interact with the customers, fill the machines, and take care of him (and our cats). 

When I call my family I don't usually go to voicemail, and when I do it's because they really were unavailable.  I don't often hallucinate, and I'm not generally paranoid or delusional.  I have anxiety issues, but that's to be expected. 

I agree with my doctor: anti-anxiety drugs are OUT.  "They wake up parts of the brain you really want dormant" he told me, in full instructor mode (he teaches).  He says my caffeine intake is fine (less than 450 mg).  I do what I can on my own. 

It's not debilitating.  I only really get panic attacks around traffic (post-traumatic) and heights (I fell down a steep flight of stairs, more than once, before my mother lost custody.  I was just left there to cry.)  So, both are understandable. 

I have a loving husband who calls me his "Queen".  I find that sweet.  While watching Divorce Court, I remarked "I could leave you in a room full of strippers and you wouldn't cheat".  I meant it.  He meant it when he agreed.  He values me and my contributions.  He tries to be understanding about my illness. 

I have customers who take care of me and enjoy me taking care of them.  They like us and want us around. 

I have, overall, really good drivers.  I very seldom feel unsafe riding with them. 

I pay, with side effects, for a pretty good life.  Considering the hell inside my head before, this is nothing to pay.