Failure to Ignite

Today I have my first appoint- ment with my mental therapist, Doctor Energy. Yeah, that's not his real name, but shit, that's as close to it that I can get. I don't call him Energy to his face, I call him Dr. N. So I can use either or on the blog. Now, I get up at Seven in the morning, and I am wondering what the fuck is going on with me? What? I get up take a leak and go back to bed. As I rest my ear on the mattress I notice my heart beat. It's rapid. Racing in fact. Hmmm, should I be concerned. No. But it makes me concerned. It's running out of control, revving like a race car. This is not good. I get up and get a drink of water and crawl back in, but to no avail.

I roll over onto my back so that I don't have to hear it and drift back off to sleep. I wake up at Nine and get up to take another leak, then hop back into bed. This goes on a few more times before noon, and soon it's just about time for me to get up and take the bus across town. I take my meds, drink water, answer emails and soon get my ass up and dressed.

The morning is cool, the wind pretty strong. The more it blows the colder it gets. I head down to the 96 street bus station and climb aboard, wondering about the people on the bus. There are a lot of New Yorkers. Something has stuck in my mind from being cooped up in the hospital, watching cable television. I was watching the History channel and there was a show about the possibility of a Nuclear device going off in a major American City. They think Washington, but it could be New York.

The show talked about what to do an what not to do when the flash lights up the horizon. If a 10 kiloton nuclear device goes off in Times Square, and I see the flash, I'm stripping down naked and encourage the bus to fuck. I mean it. I want to get all of the women naked on the bus, young and old, and have the fuck all the men in the bus, young and old, including me. When the shock wave races down the avenue, turning skeletal structures into jelly, I want to be fucking. Balls deep in some woman. I don't care how gorgeous, tall, sexy, just fucking. Now if I've got to die, that's how I would like to do it.

The only problem with this plan, that I can see, is that after the flash, and before the shockwave, there should only be about one or two minutes before the inevitable. That means before I can realize it, and strip down, the wave will hit, lifting up the bus, shattering it's windows, splintering it's frame and flinging it down the avenue. That's okay. I'll have to somehow learn to fuck in zero gee! Now how do you find training for THAT!

I get off the bus at the hospital and walk to the Mental Health section. Once again, there are scores of people. I look at the faces, and I see the windows turn white with the nuclear flash. Shit! Now what? Two minutes before the walls of the building come tumbling down. What should I do now? Run! Run like Hell, outside, down the street, to the subway. Once in the subway I will be safe from the shockwave. But the distance is way too far. There is no way that I can make the run in time.

Well, then you know what's left. Sex. Grab the closest woman, scream that we are all dead in the air, and strip naked. Whoa! Unless....unless the hospital has a basement. Which it does. That's good. I can get the elevator down and survive the collaspe of the building. This is possible.

I get to the mental health desk and before I can ask to see my therapist, he appears on the other side, remembering me and shaking my hand. He tells me that he's going to take a brief break and get back to me. That's fine. I am about ten minutes early. I have my book, the New Male Sexuality, so I'll read until called. Which soon occurs and I go to his small office and we talk. He asks questions that are easy to answer. He asks to see my meds, and I show him the empty bottles. He makes changes. He drops two meds. He thinks I was being over medicated. Hmmm, interesting. Dr. A. felt the same.

He wants me back on these meds. That's fine. I'll see. I leave him feeling pretty good. Stopping the taking of these meds are even more important in my mind. They are not helping me as much as they did. It's time to divorce them. Then I come out and look at the elevator menu, finding Medical Records, in the Basement. In the basement! Wow. I get to go to the basement. I ride the elevator down and it's a big basement, huge. It could hold hundreds of people if there was a nuclear disaster. And the kitchen is down here too, so there would be more than enough food to survive.

I find the records room. There are two women talking in front of the door. I try it, and it is locked. I press the buzzer and a small speaker tells me to come in. I enter into a dark, shelving filled chamber, with cubicles and busy workers. I walk down an aisle and find three people waiting for me down the way, standing as if I was an intruder. I was told to come in, I say. "We know...what do you want?" I want my records. I was here a few days ago and I want them for my family doctor to look over. "Well, you'll have to come back tomorrow, and it's on the first floor, not here." Gee, thanks. I wave them off, and leave. When I open the door to walk out one of the talking ladies in the front says to me: "I knew you were in the wrong place." Hey thanks for helping me.

I leave the building and go out into the cold day and hop the bus back home. I'm tired when I walk into the room. I'm going to take a nap. I shouldn't. It only means that I will be up to some obscene hour in the morning before going to sleep, but I am really tired. I hop into bed, and the day melts to the night. I am up now, writing, blogging, IMing, and emailing.

If the bomb went off now, I would surely die in the collapse of the building. I could never get downstairs and to the subway in time for the shock wave.

I'm NOT going next door to fuck Paula!

I think I'll just stay on the Internet and surf porn.

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