The Obscure

I just realized that I have the most boring life in the world. I go to work, I come back to my parents' house, I sit in my room trying not to smoke cigarettes (and failing, usually) while watching TV or reading until I take clonodine and go to sleep. Then the weekend rolls along, I spend all of saturday recouping from working with terrible headaches all week, and sunday I go to church and possibly hang out with two people. Not that I don't love those two people, but the fact that there are only two people with which I currently have a social life with at all is my point. Gone are the phone-calls inviting me places, gone are the random show-ups of my friends at my house. Everything has changed, and it is partially my fault, but mostly the fault of the headaches and depression.
I need to get out of here, this is killing me. I need to leave. The next burst of money I get is going to take me far, far away from this hole of a town. I will miss all my friends that I never see dearly, but I already do, so it won't be much different.
That's all I have to say. I cannot live much longer with this boring, mundane life. I was not made to live in any kind of mundane fashion. I don't know why I believe that, but I do. So, hopefully I will be leaving you soon. Fuck college, I can do college later, I need to get out of here. I need to meet strange people and do strange things, more so than I do now. I need to concentrate on writing instead of it just being a hobby. But most of all, I need a break from this structured world. I cannot abide structure, I loathe it.
And that really is all I have to say.

When I Was Puerto Rican...

In the morning, gonna get my things together
Pack it up and leave this place
I don't believe you'll cry, there'll be
A smile upon your face.

I love that song so damn much, everyone should buy a copy of This Was, and listen to it all the way through just to appreciate it, and then put Some Day the Sun Won't Shine For You on repeat for the rest of your lives.
It's times like this when I wish I could sing, instead of just making a fool of myself every time I suddenly start inexplicably singing that song, or one of the countless other songs I sing far too often for no reason other than that I like the songs themselves. You'd think that would be a good reason not to sing them, me not being able to sing and all, it would be more respectful for me not to bray out the words I love so much like a gentically enhanced, deaf, singing donkey.
Ah well, I knew a long time ago that I was no musician, I have accepted that.

I don't know what I came here to write about tonight, although I'm sure if I write long enough I'll get over the hump and the ideas will start flowing. It's not yet late enough for me to start thinking philosophically, after 1 a.m. I can't help it, even my conversations sound like I'm speaking paragraphs of some terrible philosophy book filled with acid-induced inner monologues. It's cool when I'm by myself, I don't have to get over the hump, I can just write and it flows out of me without me even thinking about it; but I think I'm sort of intolerable if there is anyone nearby to talk to.
I had a terrible headache all day, and it made me miss saying hello to Katie Hakala, which is very upsetting. But I am feeling ok now, which is probably the result of the far too many over-the-counter painkillers I have taken. I've probably got about 4500 milligrams of tylenol in my system right now. It starts to kill you after 8000, so I'm still safe, except for the whole... "long run" thing. I can't keep doing that, or it'll be like 50 years of alcoholism in 18 months worth of damage to my liver. Oh well, I'll burn that bridge when I come to it (though I hopefully never will).
I need a glass of water, don't begrudge me that, a man must drink!

A couple of years ago, my mother bought six extremely large plastic glasses at the Ocean State Job Lot or somewhere. They were huge, and exactly what I needed, because I could fill one of those up with water and it would be enough for a whole night. Well, some of them were broken in our old terrible dishwasher and I don't think the rest survived the move here, so I decided to buy another glass of roughly the same size so that I might continue to survive in the most convenient manner possible. I did so, but, as it turns out, this glass is far larger than those old plastic ones, may they rest in pieces (bada chish), so when I fill it up with water I feel badly about it, because the bottom third of it is always left out, and I can't drink water if it's left out over-night, it always has floaty crap in it. But, for some dumbass reason, I keep filling it up all the way anyway. Night after night, I waste an entire normal glass of water, and for some reason I can't understand, I am unable to stop the cycle.
Anyway, I couldn't get over the hump tonight, fellas. I'm tired and stuff and I know this was a terrible post but there is nothing to do about it now. See you all later!

Untitled

I took my clonodine a bit too late tonight, I'm having difficulty getting to sleep. I don't know if I have work tomorrow or not, if I do I'd better get to sleep soon; I just had to post this thing I wrote a while ago. It doesn't really mean anything, I just always wake up with words burning in my mind and I have to write them down. Maybe it's just my take on love, I don't know. Anyway, something possessed me to put it up here now, maybe it's just the sleep-deprivation. Here you are...

An Angel stands up high above
Perched atop a tower of love
Her thoughts are kind, but dare I care?
I see the fate that's waiting there.

For I know where that road will take me
A love to batter, bruise, and break me
But to not put footsteps on that path
Would make me face my Demon's wrath.

So I will walk that hard road, if I can
That road that I know did withstand
All the Ages of Petty Man
As countless as the grains of sand.

Anyway, I woke up one morning after getting very little sleep and that whole thing (as crappy as it may be) was going through my mind over and over and I had to write it down. It is a weird thing when I write, or when I draw. It's like I don't have a choice, I just have to do it. I would have preferred not to post that, I haven't even really figured out what it means to me yet, if anything. But I had to, I don't think I could've slept until I did.
It's strange, I was afraid of losing my creativity in becoming less depressed, but I am feeling words and thoughts flow through my mind even more now that I am more of an actual Person.
Ok, now the pills have kicked in, I'm off to bed.

Sorry about that last post, I was not myself when I wrote it, I read it just now and felt very embarassed that it existed.
Unfortunately for me, this dosage of lithium does NOT take my headaches away, it just changes them in some way I can't really figure out yet. Right now I have all the annoying symptoms, like the stupidity and the poor motor skills, of a headache that should make me contemplate suicide, but the pain is actually very minimal; and yesterday I got a headache that started in my spine. I've never had one start in my spine, it's always been in one of my eyes.
Yesterday morning, though, I went outside, and for the first time in over a year I didn't need sunglasses. It was weird to see the sky be blue and not green. When my headache came back, and I'm not ashamed to tell you this, I cried. Because I was outside and I had to put my sunglasses on again. "Goodbye, blue sky." I thought to myself, and I'll never listen to that song again without thinking of the one day I had without a headache.
So it came back. So what? Fuck it. I can deal with this, it is written that no one is given a load that it is beyond their ability to bear. I don't have much faith, but I have enough to believe that. If my parents have come this far through as much as they have and still live happily, then I can live with some headaches, no matter how incessant or pervasive they are.
That's all I have to say right now, I can't think straight enough to say anything more. Fucking headaches.

I am totally out of my head right now, it is very diffucult to type, so forgive me if I have some kind of mistake in this post. It appears that no one reads these but Katie Hakala, and that is perfectly alright. I do not write these posts for all of humanity, only for my close friends and those that have somehow become interested. Unfortunately, I had a good idea for a writing earlier today and I don't think I will be able to write it in my current state. I will write it as best I can though, I've already written it in one of my journals, the one Katie gave me, actually.
There are no unremarkable people, there is no one on this earth who is actually bland and "normal". There is no accepted norm, the idea that there is a human ideal is preposterous. Human beings were blessed with illogic and cursed with logic. If we relied solely on logic to survive, we would all be relatively similiar. But our illogical minds come in to our every decision, and because of this, every human becomes unremarkable.

I have it written much better in my journal, but as I said, I am out of my head right now. You see, I went up on my dosage of lithium to 1350 milligrams, and I think it may have made my headaches go away, and tonight I celebrated that. I probably celebrated a bit too much, judging from my current state, so tomorrow is going to be hell. But if this is the truth, if I actually can avoid the cluster migraines by taking this dosage of lithium, I don't care. I'll celebrate every night until the earth turns into liquid fire; and I will thank God for the chance to do so. The lord giveth, the Lord taketh away. He's taken away enough from me, I think, if this works I will dance a jig for forty full days and forty full nights. I am in NO PAIN. I have not been in no pain, regardless of my blood/chemical balance, for 2 and a half years. I couldn't remember what it was like earlier, I kept on expecting to feel something, anything, coming out of my head or shoulders or spine, but nothing came.
If you pray, please pray that thise dosage of lithium stops my headaches; and if you don't, please give your best wishes. I am feeling good today, but who knows about tomorrow? Or the day after? Pray for me, if you can. I have been hurting for so long, of for it to feel like it is ending is magnificent, I can't stand to have that taken away. It probably will be taken away, and it will destroy me, but pray for me if you will, anyway. Living a pain-free life would be like living the life of the Rich and Famous, to me. So pray for me, if you can. I've experienced one day of this, and I would gladly die having experienced that, but I would like more of a natural human life, if it is available.
Anyway, that's all I have to say, I'm going to try to sleep now. Goodnight.

I was wondering why I was so depressed today, and then I remembered that I forgot to take my lithium. So I took it, I figure in about a half an hour I should begin to feel alright, maybe. I really want to up the dosage, but I can't do that without the psych-med woman's approval, and I need bloodwork done before I can get that. I am too much of a procrastinator, so who knows if that will ever happen.
My mother often tells me that a writer writes, always. I guess I could consider myself a writer then, seeing as that is all I ever really do with my time. I have countless journals, and of course this horrible website that I can't rid myself of. I would say that I write the equivalent of four or five pages a day. If only I could take my obsession with writing and use it for some constructive purpose, perhaps I might produce something worthwhile. I do not think that that will be happening anytime soon, I have made a lot of progress with my depression, but not enough to be able to have "motivation", not enough to be able to accomplish anything but splattering my thoughts onto this screen or onto the pages of my many journals.
I say that I am a writer, but I do not say that I am a good writer. I wish I could be, but I think it takes something more than an obsession with the written word to become such a person. It takes perserverance and vision, neither of which I have.
They say fire purifies, perhaps if I said my brain aflame it would be purged of the evils that plague it. Who knows? But I haven't the courage to undertake such a gamble.
I came here because I needed to write something. I think I have written all that I can. My head continues to hurt very badly, but I am just so bored that I continue to come to this computer when instead I should just take some sleeping pills and knock myself out. That's really my last ditch effort to fight against the headaches. I only hope that I feel well enough to go to work tomorrow, but I doubt that that will be the case. I don't think they can get along without me, though. Maybe they can, I showed Hillary how to box the eBay cookies, and the other cookies we have would be easy work for anyone with even a remote knowledge of packaging, and that is really all I am good for. I will probably call in, tomorrow. This pain is a new and terrifying thing to me, it is more powerful and overwhelming than any cluster I have experienced before, and it does not seem to be stopping. I need to go to the doctor, to tell him that the prescription he gave me isn't enough, that I need more or something different if I am to survive.
I contemplated going on disability, just quitting my job and sending in the disability paperwork. But because of my age, my work experience, and the fact that I live in my parents' house, I wouldn't get enough money to get by. So I need a job, that much I know. Working is just so impossible for me without a significant amount of pain medication, and my doctor seems unwilling to produce that. I'm going to have to be frank with him, I'm going to have to tell him exactly what I am going through, and exactly what I think I need. He is going to have to overcome his fear of creating a narcotics addict, I get no joy from the pills I take, I get no pleasure from them. Perhaps if I am frank with him he will understand that. Perhaps we can come to an understanding, and I can get enough relief to live a life worth living.
Perhaps.

SAVE OUR CITY!

Man, I have listened to the Roadhouse Blues about a thousand times over the past week. Every time I drive somewhere I've just been putting it on repeat and going at least 60 miles an hour the whole way, and I'm usually on long winding backroads, so it is a lot of fun.
I've had a horrible like... 36 hours. I'm out of pain medication, as previously discussed, and I'm sick. I can tell I'm sick because I'm not really smoking anymore but I am waking up wheezing again. So I am sitting here in my sweatpants with my sunglasses on, thinking about the vicadyns Lena has left that she said she wasn't going to use. It takes a lot of vicadyn to work in any worthwhile way for me, but it is still better than no pain-pills. I think I am going to call the doctor and tell him that his last prescription was too small, because it really was, and if that doesn't work, there are always the oxycodone tabs Brian sells. I prefer not to buy pain-pills, it makes me feel like I'm using them for the hell of it, or something like that. I am a situational addict, were I not constantly beset on all sides by headaches and such, I wouldn't be dependant on pain-pills. The pain-pills unfortunately only help the headaches, they don't do anything to prevent them. Hence my search for a cure of some kind. The search isn't going too well, lithium didn't work at all, it seems, although I still have a little leeway with the dosage, I can combine it with ergotamine, but I don't know what psychological problems that might produce, when I combined depakote with lithium it caused a hell of a lot of trouble.
I think someone just knocked, hold on.
Nope, that must just have been be the product of the boredom of sickness. Although if someone actually did come by, I'd probably have to say that I was not feeling well enough to hang out. I'm only feeling well enough to sit here and document my day.
I think I am going to go take some of that vicadyn, I can't really stand this any longer. Maybe I will return to write more later, but I am not sure.

I can't sleep a wink, and I can't eat or drink, and I'm fightin' not to call you my baby.

That isn't a song, but it should be. In fact, it now is, and it is entitled: "What pops into my mind at 1 a.m. while I am walking towards the computer in a clonodine-muddled stupor."
Yeah, that sounds about right.
I'm out of pain pills, and my head hurts very badly. Everything I took earlier has now worn off, and I would steal some of Lena's vicadyn except it takes a lot of vicadyn to work for me and she doesn't really have that much. If my mom was still up I would have her drive me to the hospital to get a shot of demerol; because the pain is getting steadily worse. I wish I could sleep, I knew I shouldn't have had that espresso at the Engley's. Stupid doctor, cutting my dosage in half. He should be aware of the massive withdrawal I am going to have because he did that. I have to call him and talk to him about this, because I can't go for the rest of this thirty day period without painkillers, especially with the cluster I am having now, these are the worst headaches I've ever had. They've made me cry, and I haven't cried, because of physical pain at least, since I cut my hand when I was eight. It's bad, bad shit man. The worst thing about it is that once it gets going, pain-pills usually don't stop it, unless you take a really large dose. You have to anticipate the horrible 3 hour long chunk of terrible pain that spurts out of your chronic pain like an awful geyser, take a dose that would kill an ox before it actually starts, then you can stave it off for a while. That's what I did today, except now I'm out of stuff, and the headache is coming.
Once it's here, there will be no chance of sleep, and the worst of it is about twenty minutes away. I've already lost the majority of my eyesight and motor skills, if I tried to walk right now I'd be like a one-eyed man with cataracts and no feet trying to navigate a complicated maze; and if such a man existed and he and I were to race through the complicated maze, I'd lose. It's a sorry state I'm in, I'm lucky that my typing skills have gotten so it is more like thinking onto a page than it is actually using my hands. If I was actually using my hands you would just be getting a bunch of the junk that Becca types when she is aggravated. You know, "asdklfjfj;alskdjfl" or whatever. Crazy old Becca.

I actually am losing control of my hands now, even though it doesn't feel like I'm using them. This is a short paragraph but it is taking forever to type it because I keep fucking up. I'm sorry this whole thing ended up being about my headache, it's just all that is on my mind right now. Bada chish!
Anyway, goodnight/morning ladies and gents. I got goddamn fucking work tomorrow, lucky me!

Well I woke up this morning and I got myself a beer...

I didn't really, I woke up this morning and I got myself some shoes so that I might bolt out of the house as quickly as possible, seeing as I was late and all. I've been developing an obsession with the Doors, lately. Just some of their stuff, not the songs that seem like a ten percent music and one-hundred and thirty percent Jim Morrison's poetry, just the ones that are fast. They make me drive fast. I like music that makes me drive fast. The Roadhouse Blues is one of those.
I took my sleeping pills early tonight because I wanted to crash early, but then I got caught up in this book and forgot to try to sleep until about quarter past midnight. Then I was laying there for about half an hour, and there were too many thoughts going through my head about too many things, so I just popped another sleeping pill (I hope I don't die! They are actually blood pressure pills, after all.) and figured I'd write until I felt like my brain could quiet down a little bit and allow me to sleep.
Being on lithium is kind of a mixed blessing. I'm not depressed, and I'm feeling all kinds of good emotions, and I love that; but at the same time, I'm feeling all the emotions that made me depressed in the first place, and the drug won't let me block them out and turn them into that giant weight that I had before I went on it to begin with. I assume if I went off of it I could do that, but I kind of prefer feeling my pain for real to just feeling this odd sensation that I am carrying some kind of unbearable weight in my heart and eventually I'm going to snap. I can grieve now, I can... I can understand why it hurts so much to be the way I am. That is a terrible thing, but it is also a beautiful thing. Because as much as it hurts, I've found that I love being who I am, I wouldn't give it up for the world; but when you are depressed, you can't see that, all you can see is the part that hurts, and all you can think about is escaping from that hurt. I think if I deal with the pain long enough I will overcome it, the emotional pain anyway. My parents did, my older sister did, and I think I can, and I think Elena can. We are a strange family, none of us are remotely normal. I think I love that, too.

The other day I was sitting ouside of work, having a cigarette (I really am quitting, I am smoking less and less every day, tomorrow is the day I have none at all) and I saw this kid and his dad throwing a football back and forth in the parking lot next-door. I was reminded of how I could have been a pretty good football player in high-school, if I didn't live in total apathy at the time, and if my parents didn't put such emphasis on scholarly pursuits (which is definitely not a bad thing, I don't know if I would like myself so well if I wasn't so into books). I remember that I was really good at it in gym class, I could throw pretty well, I could catch pretty well, but mainly, man, I could just run the damn ball in. They could hand the ball off to me and I'd have a touchdown before the other team even knew where I was. I think I'm going to start running, just like half a mile or a mile in the mornings or something; because I used to be fast. I think when I hopefully get into college I am going to try out for the football team, I remember I used to love to play, maybe I can get that part of my childhod back, maybe it isn't all gone, you know?

I feel like I did when I was a little kid, it's so strange. Maybe it's just the fact that I haven't really felt any emotions for real in a long time, but right now I'm just like a little kid, I really am. I can be as happy as hell, grinning my head off, for no reason at all, for hours at a time. I can feel strong surges of love, out of nowhere, for no reason at all, for any of my friends or family. I can be sadder than I can remember being in years, over things that shouldn't really make me that sad, like a little kid who has broken a toy, and then start grinning my head off again at the drop of a hat. Maybe when the newness wears off my emotions will settle down, but it's kind of fun for me right now, even though it's slightly unnatural. I wish there was a way I could properly explain it, but I guess there isn't, really. That's ok, though, I'm sure you guys got my point.
Anyway, all I am saying is, I am enjoying not being enormously depressed. I had an emotional breakdown the other night, I think that is just because the emotions I'm feeling right now are so sharp. Other than that, though, everything is pretty peachy-keen. If I wasn't so stressed out at my job I'd be a bit happier, but that's alright, we all have to make a living.
I'm thinking about things more now, too. Thinking about philosophies, my opinions, people I know, stuff I care about, stuff I don't care about but should. My mind is switched on in a way it hasn't been in years. It's great stuff.
I'm sorry to go on at such great lengths about this, it is just a very new thing for me. I've been crushed by depression since at least the seventh grade, to be relieved of it now is like... it feels like I've spent my entire life wearing a backpack filled with bricks, and I just took it off. I think that pretty much sums it up.

Now if only I could get rid of these damned headaches.

I think I need to call my psych-med woman and up my dosage of lithium, or maybe add something else to my little morning cocktail of pills. Right now I feel terrible, but it's mainly a physical thing. Maybe it's being so physically ill that makes me so mentally ill, I'm sure I'd be less depressed if I didn't have headaches.
But who cares about my moods, anyway? Probably just me, so why write about it in a public place?
Because I can only put effort into writing if I think someone is going to see it, that's why. I'm a twisted bastard.
My mother was going to cash my insurance check for me today, she told me she would, but she didn't. So, I have no money. It doesn't matter, I don't have a social life to spend money on anyway.

I don't feel like writing anymore right now. Maybe I'll write more later, I don't know why I'm so depressed today, I'm even feeling suicidal. Ah well, if things get too bad, I'll go to the hospital; or, more likely, I'll go to the Engley's.

Flaming khakis, exploding every hour, on the hour, destroying every living thing within a forty foot radius.

My sleeping pills have kicked in and are going at full strength. I'm listening to the Doors on my headphones and I am going to challenge the clonodine to a battle of wills. I am going to see if I can make it through this entire album, a pretty impossible undertaking, seeing as it's entirely impossible; and I won't even have the lucidity to remember what it is I am doing in like five minutes.
But all around me nations crumble! Who is to say that I am not the embodiment of the eye of this political storm? What if I am? What if I'm NOT?!
I'm on my way to the end of the world, you can take a bus there now. It's a seven dollar fare, but it doesn't matter, you won't need money there anyway; and it sure beats the millenia of waiting around that we used to have to deal with. Man, those were bad times.
Hang on a minute, I'm gonna have a cigarette. I'm quitting smoking, but sometimes on a night like this, you gotta give a little.


Actually, you know what, I'm a fucking terrible writer. I'm really awful, I don't know why I even try to do this shit. End Post.

I cannot bring myself to feel anything right now.
Right now, that is. I feel all kinds of things at all other times, but tonight all I have is this deep numbness that refuses to go away. I got my percocet script refilled, and I am listening to a New York Dolls album that I borrowed from Chuck. On the surface everything appears to be fine, but I am thinking no thoughts, I am feeling no emotions. Were it not for the fact that I am supposed to clean the house tonight, I'd probably just go up on my roof for the next four or five hours and stare. I love it up on the roof.
This lithium is freaking me out, I'm not used to feeling emotions at this level. I think it is just the way normal people feel things, but I usually only feel really burdened and sad about nothing I can name. The lithium is changing that, I can feel it. Love and joy and all kinds of things, and there is sadness too, but it is a new sadness, a sharper sadness. Not the dull weight of inexplicable sorrow that has pressed down on me for all these years, but a deep, cutting sadness that makes me want to cry. It is grief for my uncle, whom I know I have spoken too much of and for that I apologize, but it is also other things. Embarassment, shame... somehow they materialize and contribute to this sadness. I am thankful that I can feel the good things, and for some reason, I am also thankful that I can now feel the bad. I can kind of understand what it's like to be a normal human being now, and even that small insight makes me feel like more of a human myself.
I've spent my entire life thinking of myself as strange, not "one of you." But at least now I know how it feels to be a person. It's strange to realize that I never knew how that felt before, during all of my 18 years on this planet.

I have to go clean my house now, and I got work tomorrow, goodnight ladies and gentlemen.

*Additions*
Man, it is now about 5 a.m. I've been cleaning all night and the house now looks pretty good, methinks. I tried to get some sleep but I couldn't without the aid of pills, and seeing as I have to work tomorrow morning, I can't take those pills, I wouldn't be able to wake back up in time.
Man, I wish everything could just fall into place so I could be comfortable with my life. I'm not depressed anymore, I'm just feeling all this other stuff, and bad things keep happening to me, like stupid car accidents and... diseases. I wish that for just a little while, everything just worked like it was supposed to. I wish that I had the confidence to fix my problems for myself, and I wish that I had less problems than I do so I wouldn't need quite so much confidence. I wish a lot of things, but as no one has ever actually said to me, "If wishes were fishes we'd all cast nets."
And I suppose that is true, there is no point dwelling on the fact that I don't make enough money to support even my meager needs, there is no point dwelling on my illness or my hatred of my own writings (allegory, I am Gollum, writing is the One Ring. I both hate and love writing, and at all times I am consumed by it.) Ah well, at least I am not a pompous asshole who thinks he can write and can't. I'm a pompous asshole who thinks he CAN'T write, and can't; and that makes all the difference.
Today (or actually not today, I think it's the twelfth. Katie knows, she remembers dates better than I do, even when it is the birthday of my own nephew) is Sammy's birthday, or his party, at least. We got him presents. Actually, I didn't get him a present. I am broke. What I have done is some prelimenary sketches for a painting I am going to do for him, I think I am going to use that old jazzy, pastel, french curvey style that everyone digs, maybe ol' Miley Daves playin' with the band. You know the kind, it's not black and white, but it almost is, there is only colour in certain things, like the horns or parts of the face. I want Sammy to be a jazz musician. He has music in his blood, Keith plays guitar. And he looooooooves "Kind of Blue" by Miles Davis. It makes him stop crying, it can put him to sleep. I gave him a tape of it because when he was at my house for a while and I had to watch him one night I put it on and he liked it. He likes P-Funk, too. We'd dance with him to it. Ahhh, I bet everyone thinks their new family baby is the greatest. But everyone else is wrong, because my new family baby is the greatest. The rest of you can shove it.
He can talk a bit now, and everything. I can't wait to see him, exhausted as I may be. I'll just keep downin' coffee and stuff so that I can remain awake. Of course, this lack of sleep will make my head kill, and my doctor cut my prescription in half this month for some reason. (Actually I know the reason, he doesn't want me to become an addict) It's cool though, I can work with 60 percocets over a month. It'll be tricky but I can pull it off. And Lena will probably have extra vicadyns once her foot heals some.
I wish I had some energy, I was supposed to vacuum, but I can barely stand up. I have to go to work in like four hours, that's going to be hell. But I am committed, and I need the bread, you know?
Egh, I think I'm gonna go try and sleep some more. The problem is I am thinking too much about some stuff, I have to clear my mind, dig? If I can't sleep after like 45 minutes, I'll probably come back here and torture you all with more of my terrible writing.

I woke up this morning with love in mind

That is something Taylor has said to me several times, I don't know if it has ever been true on the occasions during which he said it.
This morning I actually woke up with a words burning in my mind, and I rushed to get my notebook and write them down. It was a poem that came out, I don't often write poetry, and the poetry I do write probably isn't very good; but whenever I write it, it just kind of pours out of me. I don't really think through how the words are going to rhyme, I don't really think about how the syllables in the poem are going to match up, they just happen to do so. It is a very strange thing, but I enjoy it, every time I finish something, something that my mind created and so potently wanted me to express that it woke me up at 7 a.m., I get a deep sense of satisfaction. It feels like I created something, and that is the greatest thing a human can do, the greatest ability we have is to create. In that way we are also built in the image of God.
I am going to get my books sometime tonight, probably before 10. I might go to Lowe's and buy a piece of plywood, too, depending on how much it costs. I have to put a new back onto my new bookshelf (that is actually very very old) and set it up in my room. That is a project that will really require a few days worth of work and possibly a new table (to hold my TV) but when I'm done I will have my books and TV and movies and cds in there, there will no longer be any reason to leave! Except work, and friends, and basic carnal needs (Not the dirty ones, you perverts!... I could stay in the room for that.)
Actually I may not go get my books tonight, I'm pretty tired. Also, I don't like going to my storage room alone, and my sister is incapacitated. She ran out into the street and hit a car. That is not written incorrectly, my friends, she actually ran into the car, and the car was moving, so it ran over her foot. I think she broke it, but I don't know for sure yet. She said she is going to finally take my advice about crosswalks now, though.
It amazes me, she wants to get a car and her license so she can drive, but she can't even walk without crashing yet.

Well, I feel gross from work, so I am going to go take a shower. My weird cleanliness is coming back, I took a shower this morning and now I am taking one again. I can never remember how to spell weird. Wierd, weird.... It is my Achilles' Heel.
Wellllll, off to the bathroom!

Grab all your ho's and bring all your bitches, let's get inside and hit all the switches!

I have no idea what that is supposed to mean, it just popped into my head one day. I am up early this morning, because I have to go cash my check and then use that cash at my storage center so that Brittany and Patrick can put some of their junk in there. They have extra junk because yesterday them and I took my parents' van (with all but three of the seats taken out) and went to Patrick's storage room in Salisbury, which is like about as far as you can go without being in New Hampshire, so it was a long drive, and then spent like 7 hours seperating anything of Patrick's with sentimental value from all of his ex-wife's crap. It took a long while.

Anyway, I got shit to do today, seeya.

All I have to say right now is this: Please excuse the craziness of the last few posts, my psychopharmacologist tried to add a new medication to my travelling pharmacy and it had reverse effects on me. Rapid cycling, I would go from manic to depressed over and over again by like, the hour. It was a really rough time. I have discontinued that medication and now I am beginning to feel better, as it works it's way out of my system. That is all.

My finky fucked funk has brought destruction upon all of our heads.

I am full of chemicals right now, and I feel like I should be sleeping. Unfortunately, despite all the chemicals I put in my body to still the craziness that was brewing there, I am still feeling pretty weird.
It's a strange thing, to live the life of a semi-intelligent idiot. On one hand I have a vocabulary that rivals Alexander the Great's (I have no idea what his vocabulary was like, but he was great, so I assume it must have been alright) and yet simple things escape me. There is no way to win or lose in a battle of the minds, in the end we are all left with bloody stumps and a decimated IQ. So why try to fight these fights, I ask everyone? Why try to win at all in a battle of wits? Pride? Who's to say?
All I know is, I want to take a long walk off a slightly longer pier, if you catch my drift. If you don't, keep practicing, a snowdrift is a tricky thing to catch, but once you learn how to do it, it is one of the most satisfying pleasures of this world. Barring pleasures of the flesh, of course.
Where the fuck am I? WHO the fuck am I? I honestly don't know, I've been lost in this hell-world since before I can remember and I've yet to find my way back to reality. Unless this is reality. If so, I hate the real world and I want to go make my own world, with hookers and booze and spaceships.

Who cares, though? I'm just a tired, deranged young kid who wasted all of his potential and doesn't really care to get it back. Hopefully I'll get hit by a car and die tomorrow, that would take a load off of my chest. It won't happen now though, I jinxed it.
Maybe I won't have work tomorrow, I can spend a day lying in bed listening to jazz and "working" on my college admissions essay. I hope that happens, Hill said it would be a really light day, maybe they won't call me in. They probably will, though. I'm the only one who can package stuff so it doesn't break. Maybe I should train someone else to do that so that if I am sick or something we don't have to credit out 200 dollars. Eh, who fucking cares?