T’was the night before therapy


…And not a Keith was sleeping.

Well, this Keith is not sleeping. It’s 3 am and of course I am wide awake. My sleep clock is utterly fucked beyond all recognition. I had it fixed for a brief period a couple of weeks back but I promptly fucked it again. I can’t seem to quiet my mind at night. The plan is to try and get to sleep around 8am when I actually get tired, so hopefully I get four hours in before therapy at 2 pm. I don’t want to show up too much of a zombie for my first session.

I don’t even know what the fuck I want to say in this post now. I suppose I am wondering how this whole therapy thing is going to begin, how it will start, will I like my therapist? Will a connection grow? Will I be able to trust her? So many questions, pointless questions, as I’ll be finding out soon enough. I am pretty anxious about it. Jesus I would love a smoke right about now, I gave them up about 2 months ago, been on the Niquitin patches for a while, down to the lowest strength. I have not touched a ciggy in over a month, but Jesus I would smoke the arsehole out of one now. It’s moments like these that really fucking test your resolve to quit. I feel like taking a bunch of the strongest patches and slapping them all across my forehead just to get that nicotine goodness to my brain as quickly as possible… But no, must resist, I am a non-smoker now, as much as it pains me to type that.

Max (Zee dog) Is sprawled out on the floor beside me. I tried nuzzling up to him on my bed but he got fed up with me pretty quickly, I think I am too warm for him so he’s trying to cool off on the floor. Nothing to do but count away the hours now, awash in the familiar glow of my monitor.

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