Cabin Fever

Who Said It'll Go Away?

5-18-04/8-26-04

1. Turn off the alarm. Lay there. Get up; shower; wake up. Decide not to eat. Walk to work. In the rain. Work. Work. Mumble; idle chatter; decide idle chatter is better. Work. Placate everyone. Hold my lecherous and puzzling disruptive thoughts inside; decide everyone's better off for it, as am I. Work. Work. Short phone call to a friend or a loved one. Work. Leave work. It stopped raining, only to restart on my way home. Unlock the door. Throw in music. Get changed. Have a beer (depending on the day or what I'm doing on the next one, have one or four or eight more). Argue in my head about everything that is wrong and unjust. Mentally deride myself from the antagonists' points of view. Then I tell them my from my angle why I think I'm right. I usually am- if I'm to believe firmly in something then I better defend it and know why I'm defending it and be honest and sure enough that my points are valid. Come to a worthwhile solution. Wish life was that easy. Set the alarm. Check it three times to make sure it'll definitely go off in the morning. Begin sleeping restlessly- don't wanna oversleep. Dream vivid dreams about abstract things I probably won't remember. Get up about two hours before my alarm, piss and smoke, and decide to milk a few more minutes in my bed.

2. Lather, rinse, repeat. It all seems too obvious to most. I question just to be sure and keep me awake.