Maybe a) I didn't get out in time, out of some HAARP-based fukushima-irradiated chemtrail-laden atmosphere and NWO mass-mind-control plot overtaking the northern hemisphere, while money goes hyper-inflationary and all social systems begin to collapse.
Or maybe b) I just suck.
I know I only function when I am assigned some specific thing to do, when I agree to show up to play a gig, when I go to work. Other than that, I imagine doing something...and ten possible strategies come to mind, and then I flop on the bed, overwhelmed. This behavior fits into both a) and b) hypotheses. On the one hand, right in line with their ostensible environmental poisoning, I can't think clearly. I suddenly long for authoritarianism--just make a functional health care system and I will obey!
On the other, I do just suck. Lousy lover, failed at everything I've ever tried work-wise, weak sense of humor, not even very nice really, more self-centered than anything...
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I find there are times when I am reduced to catalepsis, a complete inability to move for extended periods. It's about once a week, or maybe every other. Often this is actually a useful state. It is one of the few moments left where my mind is free to roam, beyond the constraints of the next moment's pressure. In catatonia, there is no future at all. I am sure I am going to remain there for a couple weeks, until someone searches me out and takes me away to some hospital. Nothing more to worry about. It is very nice actually.
But something has snapped me out of it each time, sometimes after 30 seconds, sometimes 30 minutes. It's generally a random surge of energy without any thought that shifts things, and I hop up and move on.
There is a glimmer of a moment of lightness there, in the thoughtless movement. Then the dread returns, like a familiar friend, around all the hopelessness of illness, a barren lonely life, aging and death. Plus all there is to deal with every single day. One day I am unexpectedly cycling in the wind to and from a full day of work. The next, exhausted, I work a full shift of labor and paint a kitchen for four hours afterwards. Another day I am moving. Another calls for laundry, trying to converse with the landlady, and chores--again after a full day of work.
Underlying it all, there is very low self-esteem. There is also the penicillin I am on, killing off all the bacteria in my body, both malevolent and beneficial. I am sure the internal dying-off affects my admittedly sensitive psyche. I remember to pray sometimes and, while it never brings the cavalry, there is usually soon after a little bit of lightening that allows me to continue on.
I felt some intuition after praying the other day, that maybe there would be some meaning to just going to Tijuana and getting it done there--screw the dental insurance coverage, just do it.
It made me wonder more about whether I was meant to live in San Diego again, where there is water. A friend then called asking me when I am moving back, as our mutual friend's house has a nice room available for $450. Four blocks from the ocean, paying less than I am paying to live here in the dustbowl. On some dimension, it all came together, and I was sure I was meant to at least go out and check it out on this trip.
I can't afford the trip.
I am several hundred short. I'd be mortgaging the rest of my summer even if I somehow shuffle or borrow the money to do it. It is the money I never seem to have anymore to get the basic things I need to do done. So this morning I left a cryptic message for the dentist in Tijuana I had an appointment with Monday, indicating I probably couldn't make the trip.
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The penicillin is damping down the dental infection I have been unable to resolve despite obsessing on it for a month. I want to call some empathy friends to try to unwind some of the psychic pressure that has built up. There is the sense that everything I do or think is wrong. There is a massive should lodged in there that helps nothing. But I never call anyone. That would take self-esteem, I guess.
None of it makes sense, and I am returned to a rather infantile escapism. I want someone to make it all go away. I want to extract the tooth and failed root canal, but it is a nearly mystical epic journey apparently on the other side. Because twice I have choked when two dentists have asked me if I am sure I want to pull it. Apparently there is a slippery slope of partial dentures and moving teeth and all sorts of other unthinkable things in the modern world.
They would indicate aging.
Some part of me freaks too. What if I can't eat...anymore...ever again? Am I insane to pull a tooth?! One that could be cleaned out and patched up...maybe...with another round of canal chemical sterilization--even though it is broken...and has ached on and off for five years...and is suspect in other ailments I've had in that time...
I worked with a guy once who was under such stress in his marriage that he would go out to bars and get into fights, because he felt better when he got punched in the face. That is how I feel these days. Someone just punch me in the face, strap me to the chair and take the freaking tooth.
Please. While I've still got a couple days of penicillin. I'd hate to have to go through another course of this dying off.
Friday was an entirely strange day and I want to tell you that you were not alone with the things you were feeling. I want to acknowledge you for the fact that at least you were aware of your feelings and could express them here.
ReplyDeleteOn Friday morning, at 8 am, I met my neighbor for coffee on our shared front porch. Usually he is groomed for work and ready for another day at his AODA-related job. But last Friday, he came out to our morning meeting in frumpy sweat clothes, unshaven, unwashed and pale. He was fully able to express that he was depressed, lethargic, unable to go to work or to make a decision, and had a general feeling of hopelessness. He expressed to me some of the same things that were in your blog for Friday.
At about 2 pm, another friend of ours from our chanting group stopped at the porch. He expressed that he had to leave work because he was feeling tired and had a feeling of depression, hopelessness and was unable to make decisions.
Later on Friday, after having a nice meal with a man in my apartment, we took our wine outside to the porch. During our discussion, he mentioned that he was feeling hopeless and depressed. Since he was able to keep discussions about religion and politics moving along with intelligence, I was surprised to hear that he expressed anything about hopelessness or depression.
After he left, I reflected on the fact that three men sat on my porch on Friday, each expressing their feelings of depression, hopelessness, and or lethargy. Is there some kind of a vortex on my porch?
Late that night, I logged onto my computer and found your post, expressing your fatigue, hopelessness and depression. You were not alone all Friday. You do not suck. It was in the air, it was HARP or it was in the arrangement of the planets. I have proof that others were feeling the same things that you were feeling, except for the tooth pain.
On Saturday, I ran into a male friend who is an astrologer and jewelry maker. When I asked him how he was doing, he went into a long spiel about how depressed he was on Friday and that he felt like he was hit with a big truck full of gloom. He said it was as if everything came over him at once and all he could do on Friday was be horizontal. He mentioned he was still feeling under the influence of hopelessness.
He also gave an astrological explanation about what was happening between Wednesday and Friday.
See, you do not suck!
Thanks for the interesting feedback, it makes sense to me that as sentient beings, we would be picking up on the huge shifts going on in the world, and i am remembering to not take my feelings so personally--
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