Up after a nap, after swimming my legs off, after an early rise at 4:35 a.m. (damn, that’s a shitty sentence, isn’t it?). Wondering where my brain has gone. This is the first time in a long time the emptiness of the page seems intimidating. Maybe I’m not awake yet. Fucking nightmare, not being able to communicate. To say what I mean to say. Think I have autism in my soul. Or medulla oblongata. Whatever.
Just had a 40 minute conversation with my brother. A conversation, mind, not a lecture. He let me respond and interact. He listened to me. This is his second day on his new meds. How can I even begin to describe what’s happening here, tribe? You’ll have to all suspend your disbelief for a bit. ‘Cause the docs are all over this shit. Seriously. Just got the low down. My bro is monitoring his condition via a journal. His docs are ready to pull him in and take him OFF the shit the moment he gets negative reaction number one. Wow. For everything I’ve read out here about bad reactions to meds I never expected this. Suddenly, he’s got a team of people helping, communicating, getting him through. You’ve no idea how pleased I am to hear all of it. No idea how pleased I am to have a conversation again!
He did slip in a mention that I really need to get my ass to the fucking counseling center for my what-ever-the-fuck-it-is. *groan*
Do I gotta?
Silly question. I have no desire to open this can of worms, but if I don’t the mother fuckers are gonna ooze out the sides and cause havoc in my life, regardless. Realize I’ve been metaphorically taking the bull by the horns out here, addressing my shit in the darkness of mornings and the glow of friends I’ve gotten to know. Now I’ve got to step up and do it for REAL. Really real. In the daylight so everybody can see the scars real. It’s become a thing like losing weight: talk about all you want to, but are you gonna DO it or not?
I can hardly believe my ‘week off’ from school is almost over. WTF? Tomorrow I’ve GOT to get my hair done, either the dark color I’ve been wearing or GREY for fuck’s sake. Too much growth. Download some audio files from one of my instructors. Try that audio platform again. Fucking try that on-line registration for the counseling center again, too. And somehow find a few hours to finish tinkering with my story. When did time start to move so fast? I remember when a week would stretch out for FOREVER. Now, blink your eye and it’s fucking gone. Bleh. Youth IS wasted on the young (I get that now).
Cram more words in. Try to remember how to write coherent sentences. Sleep, when you can. Move your goddamn fat ass. Stop eating so much. Why are you smoking? God, your hair looks like shit. That skin is really dry; is it psoriasis? Are you gonna make music again or is that it? Did you see the dust bunnies under your bed? And when ARE you gonna see a dentist?
Fucking hole of a mind. Shut up.
It’s Thursday, goddamn it. THURSDAY. For all I fucking know I’ve got the winning goddamn lotto ticket sitting by me unclaimed. And won’t you feel like an ass when yes, I win the jackpot and soooooooooooo many of these troubles you keep harassing me about go the fuck away. ‘Cause whatever bullshit certain people want to throw around, money solves a LOT of fucking problems. Yes, my dad was right when he said ‘If all it takes is money, it’s not a problem’ but when you ain’t got the money to see the doctors or get the inserts for your shoes or get your goddamn mother fucking hair done, it BECOMES a fucking problem. And yes, I’d still have to live with my fears and find my courage and all the rest. But here’s what money could do for me now:
- I could hire a personal translator, someone who could come in and get through all the goddamn Dutch I need to sift through before I see the counseling center. There’s a lot of jobs for this person to do; modifying my insurance policy, helping me with my own learning, etc. Full time, 9 to 5. For as long as I need, maybe a month or two. That would be nice.
- I could go to my beloved swimming pool anytime I want to. And I could join a gym and get a personal trainer. Take THAT, fat.
- I could finally buy an atomizer. Zero carbon in my lungs; all THC.
- My hair would be glorious. Full on stunning. Same for my clothes; all new wardrobe. I’d find new outfits to slob around in rather than my cheap sweat pants and t-shirts.
- The most expensive lotions and oils would be rubbed into my skin by hot young men at spas. 😉
- I could buy new equipment. Find a real studio space, get that out of the house. Oh yeah, I’d make music again.
- Hire a cleaner for the house. Abso-friggin-lutely.
- Tja, doctors, dentists, counselors, oh my! Wouldn’t give a shit if it’s not covered by insurance. And I’d see a goddamn physical therapist, too, stupid brain, since my stupid knee keeps fucking hurting today.
Got anything else to bitch about up there? …. No. I didn’t think you would.
I DO enjoy winning arguments in my head.