The Hopeless of Hopefulls

Another morning.

No sun in the sky. I turn on my laptop. The swelling around the knuckle of that toe has gone down, thank god. I'm very happy for that. The pain is still there, but it's distant. It doesn't stop me from exercising though. And it still doesn't cause me to LIKE exercising any more either. I make my coffee and check out the headlines on Yahoo.

Scranton Kansas. A man kills his THREE children. 14, 11, and 9, sets his home on fire, and shoots himself. I sit back after reading this and I say: WTF is goin' on here??!!! How in the HELL can a FATHER do this? Just give me one good reason for a man to do this. The sheriff's are trying to figure out a motive. I can tell you, they ain't gonna find anything sound. The man had to be INSANE. What the HELL did his three children to do deserve an ending like this...from him? Doesn't the bible have something to say about fathers giving good gifts to their children. Children EXPECT good from their parents. I have to shake my head. I'm very sad. What could lead a man to do this???

That's how I started my day. I look out the window when the light creeps over my shoulder, and it's snowing out. There is a narrow alleyway outside my window which causes the snow do strange things, like fall sideways and up or to just swirl around like a white dust devil.

I think that I'm writing too much, if such a thing is possible. I'm feeling fatigued around the wrists and shoulders. My back has also began to betray me, and my eyes grow heavy with sleep whenever I try to read or write. I think I'm suffering from a form of burnout. But as my body folds under the pressure, my mind is still vibrant. It wants to communicate, and will, I'm afraid, drive my old bones into the ground to do it. Personally I think my exercising is taking its natural toll on the muscles, and getting up incredibly early is the reason for the tiredness. My slight depression might be because of my story mentioned earlier. Whatever.

There's a malaise in the air.

Today, I have a list of things to do. One is to go to therapy to see Nurse G. You just don't know how much I can do without her sessions. Well, I really like hers better that I do Dr. D's. This guy...did I tell you what he did to me last week?? This guy, knowing that I have social anxiety, has a crowd of blockheads in his session, packed in a small room. I was besides myself. I mean, I can take that shit. Fuck, I can take a room with twice that number, packed shoulder to shoulder. But there has to be a good motherfucking reason for it, AND I have to be able to move about if I feel trapped. If I start needing air badly, I need to be able to leave quickly and get outside. If not, I'll panic like a motherfucker. I'll start swinging, pushing, kicking, and I'll worry about saluting my murderers later.

Catastrophizing again.

Either that or give me a fucking VALLIUM. So that's what Dr. D. does. Like I'll EVER get used to being in a room full of people. I'd much rather avoid the shit if at all possible. But he puts me in the middle of that shit. It's called Exposure Therapy. Put you before what you hate the most, or fear the most, to break it in you. It may work, but fuck it, I don't need it to work that bad. I'll take little pieces of that shit, thank you.

So he goes to Dr. L. yesterday and asks her where was I? WHERE WAS I? Not in your session, that's for sure. If I'm going to have my head picked in, I don't need to suffer also. I know that the state is paying for me to become a better human being, but damn, does the money have to go to making me squirm??

Well, I have Nurse G today anyway. It will be good to get out from the room. Catch some fresh air, even though it will be laden with fucking snow. Which is still falling mind you. I have to see if I can resolve my pharma- ceutical situation with Dr. A. also or have to venture to social services. I'll see if I have to do that before Friday. I might turn everything around and try to get it resolved this week, and if not, go to Social Services on Monday. Sounds like a plan.

Sitting before my baby, typing away cheerfully, there is a knock on my door. Who is this? There is a great deal of commotion in the hallway, and I hear Paula's fat mouth. What is wrong with this Biatch now?? Now I'm sitting in nothing but my underwear because, that's what I wear in the morning, OK? I get up, put on a sweater, put on some slacks and the doorbell starts to panic. I mean ring, ring and ring. Now who the FUCK is this?? This isn't a forty room mansion, it doesn't take that long to come to the door, unless I'm doing something, like jerking off. I finally get dressed and snatch the door open....

And on the other side is Dr. A. What the F....? Oh how overjoyed I am to see this man. He holds up a bag of, guess what? COLCHICINE!! I let him in and we talk. I forgot how close he lives to me. He went out and grabbed a dose of this stuff, and brought it over himself. What did I tell you. Not only is this man a genius, he's a motherfucking saint!! I thank him profusely and pop two of the things. He stays only and minute, and then he's gone. Like the fucking Lone Ranger.

Damn, it's good to know you have a doctor that cares about you when you're a fucked up as I am.

Well, emails are coming in finally. Everyone else is beginning to wake to their day and get online. I think this morning I'll play some more 2142. Since I can get it in my room, I've been playing a tournament a day. Yesterday, I had an amazing 17 kills. Damn near 20. I was just two or three more kills from a bronze star. There were days that I used to dream about these many kills during a game.

Remember, it's just a game.

Too bad real life can't be that way.

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