08.May.2003
to tear it down and start again
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Throat Anthrax: Day Three
This is essentially the third time I've had to indite this entry.
Apparently, the throat-thrax is rapidly and alarmingly proliferating into chest-thrax, and it's turned my hallowed smoking into an unenjoyable impossibility.
Imagine, if you will, your cumbersome, run-of-the-mill flu coalesced with your ordinary bout of bronchitis, haywired allergies, intestinal dysfunction, quadrupled with the credulous fact it feels as though someone has been beating you relentlessly in the kidneys.
Now, listen, I know I haven't been a demulcent and lenient sort with the Canadians, but could you please remove your hockey-sticks from my bruised nephrons? I'm eventually going to have to filter out all of this Powerade.
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Yesterday, I received in the mail a rejection letter from a job for which I interviewed last week. Since they failed to elucidate why I wasn't chosen for the position, I ripped the letter into two imperfectly jagged halves and tossed it into the garbage. I can only imagine what benighted, superficial individual they deemed worthy enough to employ.
What perturbs me, however, is the blatant realization they didn't fucking inform me as to why they didn't employ me so that I may be better prepared for prospective interviews at, say, hospitals, in the not-too-distant future. Is it on my record I was arrested in December? Do they know about my Paula Cole CD? I only bought it because Peter Gabriel collaborated on the track "Hush Hush Hush", and I was very young then. Did someone tell them the story about Spiffy, the heroin junkie, and my less-than-professional association with him in 1998? Did they find those photographs of me while I was going through that "Caffeine pants are very comfortable." stage of my existence? Is my record permanently damaged because of this?
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I am in need of Lortab, a nice bath, a decent razor, and possibly some hallucinogens. The razor is for my legs, my children, not for my wrists.
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Whenever something positive is in my possession, I have no idea how to sustain it when change occurs. Normal humans have hectic schedules and bend themselves accordingly. I'm not as resilient as I'd hoped. I can't imagine juggling more than one important thing at a time. I lost touch with the multitasking portion of myself when I left school in 1998. Because I chose an alternative pathway through life, I assumed an alternative pathway with my emotional status would suffice.
It won't.
I feel the need to disconnect. I'm quite close to changing everything in my life, from illness to career. I have only been waiting five and a half years for all of this. I wish I could draw in pseudo-understood similes what this dark period has done to me, but, alas. There was nothing inspirational. There was nothing to show that I've done anything even remotely productive with myself.
I am quite aware I'm reinventing something. This is broad, unfettered, foreign, freezing, and free. I have two very prominent sides to me, as I'm sure everyone does. I am tired of succumbing to the tremulous, submissive half, when it's so painfully obvious I am driven and motivated by the brazen, dominant side. I have this fear that when I change, those closest to me will not approve nor follow nor support.
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I celebrated Cinco de Mayo by getting back on antimanic medication, otherwise known as Lithium. Since I'm sick and illness is renown for shifting my equilibrium, I cannot tell if the dizziness is a result of the medication or my Canadian-raped kidneys.
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There has to be a Psych 101 term for the phrase "out of sight, out of mind", but I can't seem to find it. If one of you knows, please tell me.
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time & machine