Dry mouth.

I've got a constant dry-mouth. It's fucking annoying. It's these fucking drugs the doctor has proscribed. They stop a bunch of glands from doing anything, and evidently that includes producing saliva. I'm getting through around a litre of water an hour -- which means I'm going to the toilet about twice an hour as well. I'm like a shitty fountain in a pleb's garden or something. I hate that something which is meant to help you is actually the worst kind of hindrance. Apparently they're not even going to take effect for about a week: so in the meantime I have to put up with horrendous dry-mouth, and purely criminal nightmares almost every night. It's really horrible to go to bed as an insomniac knowing that the rare few hours of sleep you can snatch are going to be full of lurid visions of things you really don't want to think about. I'm really not a fan of these physical side-effects. So just because physically I'm already falling apart I have decided to quit nicotine as of 2.30pm tomorrow afternoon. I am going to get me some patches, and an inhalator, and whatever else they'll give me and then I'm going to do my best to just... not smoke. Sick and tired of it, and clearly that's not going to be helping a fucking sand-mouth. That's a good metaphor right there: I'm simply chewing through a bucket of sand every hour, which is then re-worn into glass whilst inside me, before it attempts to squeeze itself out of my urethra or ringpiece. Seriously, I'm gonna look like a fucking flamed tapestry by the end of this week. A ravaged patchwork of decimation; a dead man strolling gently through my gums. MASTICATE. I wish.

Fucking medicine.