Wednesday, January 04, 2006

This is what's really going on

I have been watching myself more and more lately. I have been watching for "the subtle addictive signs of my disease". In other words, my alcoholism. Or in laymens terms, my anxiety and neurosis and depression. Call it by any other name, the culprit of my normal day is the automatic, first thing in the morning, negative waves of thoughts that are so present that I can't even see them as they are coming. Thousands of messages pouring in from god know's where. My dear friend Jimmy G says that as he is waking up, his disease is personified by a doppleganger of himself who has been up many hours earlier, smoking and drinking coffee and writing. As soon as he wakes up, this sinister other shakes him awake crying "hey, take a look at this buddy". Oh yeah, that's what my disease is like. It's off to the races as soon as I'm up. If I don't connect to something higher than me, it's all downhill at a quarter past 5:00AM.
So, let's say I do turn it over right away, well, then there's the other monster, caffeine, just sitting there, waiting to perk me up into more agitated and anxious, automated amped up man. Gotta get this going. So, I turn on the KABC morning news with Phillip Palmer and Kathy Vara and listen to the coal miners who all survived...thank the lord you exist...oh, wait a minute...I guess they didn't...of course you don't exist. All the carpet commercials from Empire with the little gnomes dancing around, mixing with my coffee and bad thoughts and mini-micro alcoholic me gettin goin.
Off with the news and on with the sports talk. Gotta have The Herd on in the morning man. Gotta have my Cowherd fix. He's friggin hilarious, gotta keep the noise goin, otherwise I fall asleep and realize that I'm gettin ready to go to another day at another job which has absolutely nothing to do with why I'm here on the planet earth and barely pays my way here. Sugary cereal, followed by eggs and bacon and OJ. I've had my hot shower, scalding, and the primping as fast as I can so as not to lose control. My oldstyle hairdryer is my god. Thank god I've got hair. My belly a wretched reminder of what I've chosen of my life.
Then to Hollywood High, where the fun really starts. I'm already in maniac mode by the time I arrive at the maniacal school of hell. The admnistrators and office people and others saying "good morning" as I grunt back at them. Grunt grunt. Is that socially acceptable? Then I realize the rage that they have. The all consuming rage that drives them. There are wonderful people there, don't get me wrong. But the angry are the worst of the enraged...the intelligent without god. I just try to help who I can, but the others make it my business to create the worst day possible. So, now, it's almost lunch and I am losing cell tissue. I have no serenity left, I am numb and wander through the rest of the day just waiting to clock out. I have wanted to quit this job for so long but, the laughable hilarious bad joke is this: no matter where I work, I will still have to deal with...(ta da)...PEOPLE! I will still have to learn to cope. And baby, oh baby, don't bother me cause I can't cope. And I don't feel one bit sorry for this fact. It's me, mama. I'll keep looking to overcome (we shall overcome). But in the meantime, I pat myself on the back for even trying to live in a world when my point of view is not even mine. I want it back. I've got to get it back. And fucking soon.


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