Solitaire 'till dawn

I rarely say this, but I had too much caffeine today. Two big mugs of coffee at home. Later, when I was feeling better (called in sick from work today due to my serotonin hell), I went to D's and had a large iced coffee and a refill. That's the strongest thing they sell. Finally, for odd social reasons, I ended up at Ruba where I had a double espresso. WHY did I get a double?

My arms hurt and I'm hearing a buzz in the air, literally. It's an ok temporary antidepressant, I guess. I have that feeling right now that I'm clutching a rope while looking down at boiling lava. Maybe that's why my arms hurt.

There was a whole lot of talk about sex tonight. I felt like Charlie Brown in the Halloween special, where after everyone talks about the candy they got he says "I got a rock" every time. I've thrown my kick at too many vanishing footballs in the last ten years. Fuck you, Lucy.

In the old days when I got really down and lonely like this, I'd drive way way out into the desert, maybe all the way to Blythe or really deep into Inyo/Kern. The rushing air and the emptiness and the moon over some big stark jagged mountains were easy on the soul. I never want to do that alone again, ever. Someone come with me next time.

I've never really had anyone to take impromptu road trips with, or sit around on the floor arguing about music all night with, or just to hang out with arm in arm all day and be comfortable. No one's ever particularly wanted to share that kind of closeness with me. When people say they want to be intimate with me, they really just want to be entertained and then disappear, at least so far. It's discouraging.

You all might want to put cones around this thing and drive around it for the next few if you don't want to see some bloody corpses. I'm getting more and more confessional every day. I literally have nothing and no one to lose.

Now we see as through a glass, darkly. But soon we will see face to face.

Serotonin Gnome #8, get back on the job

After several hours of abject self-hatred and black depression I attempted to sleep, which resulted in me perking up and feeling like a glass of milk and some Wodehouse. I haven'd had rapid-cycling moods like this since the Old Therapy Days. Nostalgie de la bleue, peut-etre?

[A priest passes by outside, intoning THERE IS NO SALVATION OUTSIDE THE CHURCH]

I'm as crazy as THREE German Expressionists!

I wonder how cats in the wild get their chins scratched?

When I was asleep for a short time an hour ago, I had a dream in computer logic. In the dream I was writing a Perl program that opened a file and sorted it into two columns, writing it out to a socket. But I felt the parser opening the file line by line and arranging the columns, as though I was kneading bread or combing the cat. This isn't the first time that's happened, either.

This week has been a naked lunch, every piece of food on every fork exposed.

A couple of fresh strawberries, cold from the fridge, excuses a lot of things in life.