birthday

oh beer. oh dear. every year you get the best of me i turn into the worst of me and i'm just now getting back to normal. back then i'd call richard and moan and cringe and swear i'd never drink another drop again. or i'd call texaho, and we'd shrug and say that's just the way it is. this time.. pretty bad. but at least everyone is so kind. i don't want to go back to that bar again. thats all i'm saying.

more rain, more parties. people i don't know, social akward moments, and no extra beer to drink. its a hard thing to be aroung people. constant reminder that i have diareah of the mouth. we say strange things like it's commonplace. i don't have to time to keep myself from offending anyone. life is short and i'm about 40 years in.

40. fuck. i still haven't written a novel. and i haven't really been anywhere. its times like this i try to think like a george harrison song. why are people so strange? why does living have to be so hard. i love my husband. i don't know how i'd make it thru the slipperly steps of these social constructs. mad swirl was insanity. the curmudgeon attacked me verbally and drowned in his solitude as i can back to him with a counter attack. i dont even look at him in the face. thursday the drunken bday fiasco. innapropriate behavior abound. too many beers. too much anxiety drowning in the heavy hop pint glasses. music. drums..drums drums.. jelously and insecurity.. more beers. friday a wash. saturday sober akwardness and amy winehouse hairdo. anglofied partyness. my brown can't get down. today family time, walking the pulga that smells like roasted corn and sounds like poppers hitting the ashphalt. i shoulda bought some shoes. sandwiches and long rides back home..i burned dinner but everyone thought it was good. the hours are ticking away and i have to go back to work again. these past four days off i remembered who i was again and i liked it, even if i am just really fucked up after all. happy birthday to me.

high and low

listening to music non stop. have to do something about the extreme highs and lows. wandering in and out of dream states. not sure if its the meds or the lack of or just a janky mental state. chalk up all three.
impatient. uneasy. walking with a slight limp. lost some weight, nothing to worry about. probably just the poverty diet we keep. i feel strangely compelled to go to ash wednesday mass. to feel the ash on my forehead like when i was a child. catholic bindi. i make plans just to break them. i have dreams just to document the strange familiar feeling I get just having them. the towns and cities constructed out of brain synapses and memory overloads. when I drive i feel like i'll reach the end of my dream life if i go in repetitve paths. there is a familiar road i take that reminds me of the left over cans of vegetables that were left in the fridge after my mother died. we cried and threw them in the trash. everything has been scrubbed away. as if nothing ever happened. i hold on to things forever. once they are gone i'm one day closer to death. listening to music non stop. i have to do something about the extreme highs and lows.

dream

we packed up the car, boxes and papers. we are always on the move, driving the highways of texas in the dead of night, barefoot and windows open to the star studded sky. my feet on the dashboard an some static radio station trying to slice the night with it's mysterious messages..somewhere in a small building someone is pumping vinyl into the airwaves, smoked cigarettes and stale cups of coffee. your hair is down and the wind is whipping it around your shoulders. we are finally free. you and me on the road to nowhere.

that was nice, now tell me how this makes any kind of difference.

What has happened since we last spoke. Closed the shop, lost my house, moved into a postage stamp apartment with no bedroom, sleeping on a broken futon, started a new corporate gig at part time hours and lost contact with almost everyone I talk to since October of last year. I'm sure i'm missing some things.. but that is the gist of it. Now instead of this flowery poetry type depression thing i've got this full on uncontrollable feeling of malaise and disatisfaction with things. People. Ideals. Everything fails me, or do I fail it? Do I get a big fat 'F' on life because I couldn't hack it in the real world, the real 'im in charge now' world or do we chalk it up to experience and have a good laugh at it when the toilet tank top breaks or we buy cheap food with stamps. I thought I'd be able to hack this shit, but really I'm just going thru the motions. Part time work keeps me busy and not thinking. But when i'm thinking, oh holy hell the thoughts we have.. WE the brain and I in constant battle. Oh and the boredom. No more socialite drinks and chats, no free tickets or invitations and not even Friends that I can really see. It's just me and my Klonopin against the world. Nodding off is fun but I can't dream anymore. I don't think I'm doing what I'm suppossed to be doing right now, but the bills are getting paid. Oh the resentment. Against who or what I'm not sure if but anyone but myself. I get high and nod off to incredible thoughts of walking realisations. I was not committed. I was not on the ball. I let it slide thru my fingertips. I got caught up in my own bad vibes and juju and could not accept success in any form. Now I fight a daily battle with this otherworld I woke up into. My boss is almost 20 years younger than me. And I can't do shit right for him. It's all very pathetic. I owe people lots of money, but I work 20 hours a week. I don't have anything to spare. What little I have I spend on my kid as some kind of apology for putting her thru all this shit. I'm not even writing anymore. Who cares? Who CARES? WHO CARES?