Playing With Fire

I talk a good game, sure. But my follow-through? It sucks.

As I think I mentioned (but can no longer find where, because I am apparently a complete Blog Bimbo), I weaned myself off of Neurontin when I quit my job, so that I wouldn't have it on my list of current meds when I applied for private health insurance. When this other job came through, and I realized I wasn't going to need that private insurance, I started popping those puppies again because, well, they help keep me sane, and I'm no idiot.

Except for when I am.

Which is to say that I went off my Neurontin again, a couple of weeks back, for no better reason than that I rapidly gained a good five pounds within maybe two or three weeks of starting up in the first (second, really) place. I am hypocrite, hear me roar. And, of course, that logic was made even less logical by the fact that two days after taking the last of my little yellow capsules, I went on a week-long cruise and spent each day eating my weight in caramelized onion tarts, butter-drenched lobster tails, chocolate souffles, and whatever they happened to put on the midnight buffet table.

I suppose the fact that I only gained two pounds in those seven days is impressive, considering. But, really. If I'm going to put myself in the line of imminent insanity, shouldn't it have been in the pursuit of actual weight loss, rather than maybe-not-quite-so-much weight gain?

[Those of you whom I've lectured about the importance of maintaining a drug regimen even when you think you're feeling better are more than welcome to taunt me in my comments, stick your tongues out at me, and strip me of my Personal Depression Consigliere title. I deserve no less, considering how much glass my house is made out of, and how many stones I've been lobbing from inside.]