After I come inside I do whatever chores I didn't do the night before, in order to shake off the Seroquel (my anti-psychotic, which is also a sedative) that still has a hold of my brain. I do what I need to do, dishes, hanging laundry, litter boxes, whatever. Then I sit down on my couch, which is also where I sleep, in spite of the fact I have a very comfortable bed in a very nice bedroom, and turn the laptop on. I check my email, Twitter, and Facebook for notifications from various websites that may have come in while I slept. Then I fuck around on the computer until Doc gets home from work.
Within the next two hours, Doc returns home. Either he brings food home, or he makes me have a yogurt or granola bar. He takes over the laptop and I start watching MSNBC. This goes on for a couple of hours.
Around 10-11am, I lay back down and go to sleep until between 1-3pm.
Then I get up, go through the first of the morning routine, and then I time travel. I roll our cigarettes for the night. I make a fresh pot of coffee. I hang any impending laundry. And I sit down in front of the computer and put on my current favorite play list on my headphones and then it is 5:30pm and time to wake Doc up. I don't know what happens to that time. Sometimes I have a long entry in here to show for it, sometimes an essay/article, other times, a clean bathroom. But it's all a void to me. Every day. I lose the hours between when I wake from my nap and when Doc wakes from his sleep.
Then he goes to work. It's 7:30pm. I tidy up. I refresh my beverages and make sure the cats are fed and the dog is watered. I do whatever chores I have to do. I do this by turning on lights in the rooms that need something done in them. On a good night, I will end up with a dark house. I also have post-it notes on the microwave and side of the fridge to remind me of things that need to be done, like refilling the Brita pitcher, and doing the litter boxes in the front of the house. Doc has suggested I make a desktop image for the laptop with the stuff all over it, so when ever I close a window, I will see what I need to do. I'm currently fighting that one by ignoring it. I think of it as silent protest.
Around 11pm-1am I take my night meds. Then I have 15 minutes to finish up what I am doing before I have to start closing one eye in order to focus on anything and clinging to the walls because I have no depth perception. Sometimes the Topamax (taken to curb the unending hunger the Seroquel causes) doesn't kick in fast enough and I have to either lay there fighting off a pop tart craving, or get up on my impaired state and toast and eat them without hurting myself or the cats or dog. Then I can lay down and go to sleep. Those are the bad nights. I try to get to sleep before the cravings, because they are really bad. They are all powerful - and I am familiar with pregnancy cravings. They are nothing compared to what Seroquel can convince your head of. Seroquel laughs at mere hormones.
And then I wake up again at or around 5am. These are "normal" days. Days when there are no hallucinations, when the voices are just a choir of murmurs, the delusions not too many steps from reality. When the rage and psychosis are quiet. When the anxiety and sheer trauma of leaving the house and intentionally surrounding myself with other human beings in a rolling closed space never enter the schedule. When I don't have snuff nightmares during my nap and wake up yelling "no, no, no!". Those days get their own entries. Those days, things get complicated.
But for an average day in the average life of a suburban childless punk rock housewife with Schizophrenia, here you go.