The Opened Nowhere

Not sleeping.

Doing it less and less. I've just switched my coffee brand from store brand hazelnut, to Cafe Bustello. Now I don't know about you, but Cafe Bustello is pretty strong stuff. Why did I get it? Because I didn't know it was pretty strong stuff at the time. I was under the impression that it was pretty Tasty stuff, only to find out that here was a strong right cross with that cup. Now I'm with a cup of joe that can make a corpse stand.

I worked on editing my Novel some more today, and writing a new kind of free-form poetry from my poetry pen pal and guru. I'm enjoying this new form. It makes me wonder. I wonder when all this, everything around me, my little, tiny, miniscule fiefdom will implode? I wonder when I will have to say goodbye to all of this and under what circumstances. I say this because I feel it to be close. Closer than normal. A change is coming that I have not thought of. Whipping it's way to me. Solidly moving, freight train fast, freight train hard.

I can't edit or write fast enough to derail it, I can only be carried under its wheels. It's either that, or it will come from within, something in me will break, will give way, and I'll suffer a form of Shockobuku, a sharp, swift blow to the head that alters your reality forever. That's alright. I could use a change. I'm not afraid of change. I've had them too often. I make them too.

Like the newest change out of my arsenal. Dr. A. wants me off of a lot of the pills that I'm on, so to this end he has found another psychiatrist for me. This one is to do two things if he can: 1) to reduce the number of professionals that I need to see, and to 2) lower the amount of pills in my bloodstream. He thinks this new shrink can do all that. He's trying to reduce my pill load also, by getting me into more vitamins and therefore unhook me from all the meds that I'm on. I need to be taking my health seriously and doing the things he suggests, help him out. Help him help me, but you know how I am. I'm always in amazement that things catch up to me all of a sudden, without my being aware of anything. Silly me.

Well, I want to do this. I'm going to drop my psyhiatrist/ psychologist/ therapist for one psychiatrist. It's time to start doing things for me. I can't wait for the inevitable. Also, I'm supposed to have drinks with Charlie tomorrow. We're going to do it again, get together. I like the idea actually. He is a part of my past that I should never had allowed to become lost. I'm getting too old. I want to mend fences, heal wounds, buy back time.

My life is pretty complex. I'm sitting back looking at things and I realize that I'm not in love that much with complexity unless it's in a story that I'm writing. In fact, that's all the complexity that I wish, in my writing. In the final estimation, I like things simple. I like a simple love affair, a simple life, simple friendships, simple foods, simple thinking. I like things uncomplicated. When things get complicated then they are harder to control, and I hate to control things. I think I'll pass on controlling things.

I get an email from Charlie. He can't make it tomorrow, can we raincheck it until next week. That's good. I don't have a problem with that. I go and take a shower, scrub down good. Make dinner, it comes out pretty crappy. I eat it anyway. What is it? Pasta and soup. Not a good combo. Not separate...a bowl of pasta, a bowl of soup. No, together, pasta with soup poured over it. It doesn't come out good. I've done better. The best pasta is with salad dressing. It just works better.

There is a ring on my door. It's after ten O'clock and someone rings my doorbell. I check to see if I have my house keys. I do. I frown. It can either be Igor or that drunk guy looking for 'the lady'. I don't give a fuck, I don't open shit. I go back to my computer and answer emails and hang on IM with friends. Fuck these crazy people in this building. No wait. I live in this building.

I'm yawning, so that's a good sign that I will not be up all night tonight. It's only two in the morning. I should be out cold by three, that's my usual bedtime. I wonder if I will be finished with this post by then. I might. Although I have no set time in putting up a post. It could be anytime.

Especially if I have ran out of things to say.

HobobobSource URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2009/11/opened-nowhere.html
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