Tori’s Writing Hole

is pepper. Ok, maybe it’s not the cure for everything, but it is the solution to getting Julia to eat dinner. Just offer her the teensiest sprinkle of black pepper on her food, and all is well. No more of the “airplane”, the magic dances, the enticements - pepper will do. She doesn’t even notice if we hardly sprinkle any at all, the shaker itself is enough to get her going.

I’m changing antidepressants, again, so if my posting on here is sporadic at best - well, you know why. They make me taper off the ones I’m taking and onto the new stuff (ah, Effexor, the one not yet tried). I will most likely get the nausea, sleepiness and head zaps that are so enjoyable when weaning oneself off of an SSRI (or in this case, an SNRI) and then have to learn what my new side effects will be. What wonders does Effexor have in store? Weight gain? Thirst? Horrid gas? (That one was from Zoloft). No sex drive? Well, I won’t know until I’m on the stuff, but the Cymbalta’s pooped out on me. To climb out of this blackest pit of despair I’ll risk it.

I’ll just keep looking at the pix of Roswell on my desktop and thinking about cute kitties.

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