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9:31 p.m. - 2002-04-18
Side effects.
Sweaty palms. A little jittery. Know that Iím sad but donít feel sad. Huge loss of appitite. Trouble getting to sleep.

The worst though, was discovered through attempting to cure the last on that list. If you are like me (and if youíre not sure go back two entries and take the quiz), you prefer the good old fashion cure for insomnia that comes in the form of good old fashion self pleasure.

Yes self pleasure.

Now it said on the Pizaxil pamphlet that there are certain sexual side effects, and I was a little concerned about the one I bet you all are imagining right now. Well let me tell you, itís not the starting thatís the problem, itís the finishing.

Yes the finishing. No motherfucking release.

Those who know me well know that I am no kind of quitter, unless I donít like something a whole lot, but that is not the case in this particular scenario. And yet for the past week I have been defeated every fucking time.

The battles raged on into the wee hours some nights, with both of us having to call a cease-fire every now and then to catch our breath. But I eventually had to admit defeat each time and look at him just stand there in proud victory.

Porn to no avail. Computer, video, print literatureÖall scoffed at.

And the irony of it all is that being single, this side effect holds no value to anybody.

Oh well, at least I donít want to crawl under my desk and sob anymore.

UmÖyay paxil.*cough*


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