Existential dilemma

I've been fairly quiet as of late, but now I'm here to spill my guts because I feel the need to unburden myself, and am spending too much money on on-the-rocks margaritas and guacamole in lava bowls to do so with a professional therapist. But I'm hesitating... I don't know.
I suspect ml believes me to have a drinking problem, but unfortunately, he's a little off the mark (I also think he's projecting a bit). I did buy four bottles of wine with jc the other weekend in order to fatten up my wine rack, but I used an entire bottle for risotto, another bottle for coc au vin, and admittedly, I drank the rest. But who doesn't drink two bottles of wine in three weeks? I'm not ashamed.
I have been on steroids, oral steroids, that is. Those are interesting. I was familiar with them only enough to understand that they have plenty of side effects, but did not know what those side effects were specifically. I found out one of them too late. Under the heaviest dosage, I was almost incapacitated during a walk home one evening. My right hamstring flickered and gave out quite suddenly, resulting in a stumble and several attempts to "shake it out". I managed to limp the rest of the way before irreversibly collapsing on the sidewalk. Ah, muscle weakness! How do these steroid freaks, I wonder, manage to work out while taking these drugs? While squatting down to clean out the litter box, I thought my legs would crack into pieces, and I would be left crippled with a bag of poop in my hand. I'm done with the oral steroids, and I'm not sure if they've done anything, or if they might end up working later, or what... The pain is still there, it still radiates, and I am still struggling with pain management. "Still", in French, is translated as "toujours", which also means "always". Will the pain be there toujours? J'espère pas.
And I have yet to begin with the steroid injections--epidural steroid injections. Fun fact: Did you know that a side effect of steroids is psychosis? I do like the anesthesiologist, though. Very nice man, and also very nice to look at. The skullcap is a huge turn on too. I'm a shiksa who likes orthodox men. I blame Chaim Potok. To lighten this entry up a bit, I'd like to joke about having these spinal injections, but I'd rather be honest and say that I'm frightened. Some people claim that they are so painful that they'd rather die than have them done again, and better yet, they're not guaranteed to work, and then I'll be picking up my MRI portfolio and knocking on a surgeon's door. I'm trying to channel Frida Kahlo, who faced the existence of a cripple with grace and strength. But all I really want to do is throw a fit and cut out my sciatic nerve with one of chef's many hunting knives. That's not true...I'm just tired.
These days, most of my patience is burned up by the aforementioned pain management (since I am not using narcotics), as well as trying to suppress any worries I have about being afflicted for the rest of my life (afflicted...that's so deliciously Russian). My mood has fluctuated only slightly between mildly sad and mildly happy. It's as if someone has slipped Prozac into my drink and I am no longer allowed to feel the highs and lows of life. Except for the other evening, when a sudden case of mania struck me and I decided without uncertainty that I needed to go to Europe this year. Have you ever experienced mania? It's... Beautiful. Better than any drug in the world. Anyway, ever since that manic episode, little peaks of happiness have started making their way through again. For instance, on Friday night, I felt quite happy, but not in a delirious, manic way. I just wish I could shake this feeling of loneliness, which I feel even when crowded by good friends. I never thought I'd experience the existential dilemma. But alas, I am no better than Rodya. Don't worry, I won't be killing an old woman anytime soon. Or a stranger on a beach, or whatever happened L'Etranger (you'll have to excuse me, it's been several years since I've read Camus).
Perhaps my frustration has also been due to the extraordinarily odd weather this winter. But look outside, there's snow... Thanks to bg for finally explaining to me what the fuck a noreaster is. The northeast is so gay. I'll let that be my final conclusion for this afternoon. A piquant conclusion, as Fyodor Pavlovich Karamazov would say. Oh, and Happy Valentine's Day.

¿Como se dice "douchebag"?