Meds? Or No Meds?

If you've read anything at all at this blog, you have probably surmised that I am a guy with quirks. Another way of expressing the concept of 'quirks' might be to express it as 'possible mental health issues'

...ya...

Today I am taking what they humorously call a 'mental health day' -- only, it is a little more for-real than the glib usage, in today's case. I'm already feeling a little bit better for having made this decision. I got some coffee going, and I also got some music going - music from where I'm 'from' ...I won't bore ya with play lists.

I'm feeling so much better in fact, that I'm almost feeling like I should go to work. But. I'll not fall into that trap. I'll go for a full day's worth of recovery, not just a pot of coffee's worth or one album's worth....

Anyway, last night, somebody with ADHD described to me the symptoms of ADHD. I have it for sure. Self-diagnosing is a dangerous path, I know, but I'm thinking I do indeed have it. I have all those symptoms. And more. I also have some serious...feelings of....it's hard to describe: it's a mix. I dwell on mistakes I have made. I dwell on memories of situations when people have rejected me or...'relegated' me (?) (right word?). I have depression too, but, who doesn't. I got it bad.

So the point that I intended to make is this: I'm struggling with the decision about whether I should 'see somebody' and 'find the right medicine for me.' Here are some of my worries: What if I get canned? Because I kind of suck at my job (not just pity-partying here, I really do suck at it, I couldn't configure myself out of the friggin can)...so, ya, what if I go on some medication, and then they lay my ass off...and then I can't afford the medicine nomore...You hear all the terrible stories of people who suddenly 'go off their medicine.'

Another concern I have is this: My ex-wife went on Pristiq, right, and she completely transformed into different person before my eyes. It was startling to see it...to see somebody you've known for 13 years...somebody you loved and who you know EVERYTHING about...to see them just change completely...to see the former parts of them melt away and see the mechanical being that emerges and does not seem to give much of a fuck about anything except mechanical things. She said she feels better though....so who am I to judge

Another concern or consideration is this: Maybe I ain't all that bad. Maybe I can do it on my own. I've put lots of effort and babbling in on the spiritual healing pursuits...I feel good when I read Good Stuff and watch videos of The Good Stuff and when I'm around people sharing in the Good Stuff....but the bad stuff still gets on me quick, hard and heavy. I can't spend 24 hours of all seven days with my nose in self-help books or spiritual books, I can't spend all my time watching satsangs on YouTube. I need some take-away healing. I need some take-away strength.

Earlier in the year, I started an account at Daily Strength, and I was posting and participating regularly for a while there. After reading how bad some people got it though...I thought: wow, I might not be that bad off. That doesn't necessarily help 100%, but, it gives one some perspective.

Nothing to Report

I drank lots of beer yesterday with my neighbor and this other friend of mine. We talked about all subjects and cooked up some slop and ate and watched this weird movie I have, Baraka. Their website describes the film:

Baraka is a non-verbal film, without words, actors or a plot. Instead, incredible, thought-provoking images from around the world show the beauty and chaos generated by nature and humans.

I have a few of these non verbal films out of this same strain. The first one I ever saw was Koyaanisqatsi (a Hopi Indian word meaning life out of balance). You can watch the whole thing on YouTube. It's these amazing camera shots of life, the busy nature of human life...chaos vs order type stuff.



Baraka shows a lot of spiritual and ritual type stuff. Koyaanisqatsi seemed more environmentally 'themed.' I've watched Koyaanisqatsi ten trillion times...there's nothing like it. If you ever want to see a film that's a little different, this is a good one.

Anyway, it was good to have friends around all durn day, and one of em is still passed out on the couch out there. We ended up at that dopey drum circle last night, and it was real dopey so we left. But I met a cool lady there, and we talked about the events like drum circles and so on (She's pretty high on drum circles right now...I'm kind of coming down off that high...crashin, more like). Anyway, she's into spoken word type stuff too, and I told her about the one I like to go to, and she might end up going. Cool cool. I'm not trying to hook up with her...it's just nice to see friendly, familiar faces of people who like to do the same kind of wacky things I like to do.

I don't really have anything to report, no drama or sorrow I care to rip the bandages off of at the moment. I was just thinking: I'm lucky I have the few friends I have. There are people who know me and know my whole story, and they really root for me in this life struggle thing. I try not to burden people with my troubles too much, but these troubles do come up in conversation, you know, and there are some people, luckily, who give me good advice -which- if I was smart enough, I would heed.

My friend wants to drag me to a dum circle tonight...I mean...a drum circle. This particular drum circle is the scene of a particular crime, though, and I'm nervous about going there. (I am curious about whether them shoes are still hangin there though, maaan.) I do and I don't want to see HER there. Her friend has been texting me, Happy Thanksgiving...How you been doing...Hey, I been texting you...You still at this number? They tell each other EVERYTHING. Talking to the friend means talking to her. Maybe this is immature, a little bit 'I'm Not Okay/You're Okay.' I should respond to messages and accept hug offers and smile at all times, I guess. Or, I could go spraypaint something...leave a wacky note...and then sit there and be aware of it -and of all things, stand there seeing...take a bouncy ball out of my pocket and bounce it...take some golf clubs and a bucket of balls to an old grave yard and just start strokin em-- the balls bouncing around between memorials all crazy, like life-size pinball -- not out of disrespect, maaan, I have kin in there too (brother, mother, dad) - it's a temporary alteration of a false sad place (They ain't there. That ain't Them), a celebration at the world's saddest kind of place, and the only way I'd ever be able to drag myself back there. I hate graveyards. When I go to them, I am an emotional wreck for weeks. (I would never hit golfballs into a graveyard, I'm just kidding. Most people see graveyards as sacred, and I'd never act up in grave yard. Out of respect to people who already have enough grief. Everybody handles grieving in their own way, and the last thing a dummy like me should do is make suggestions. The best thing I can do when advice seems to be called for is to offer no advice. I don't know. I got mixed feelings on this. The best thing to do with mixed feelings is use them as ink.) Anyway...this Lady...whose shoes, I believe, are still hanging from a powerline in front of a bar...and her friend, and all those friends from that scene...maybe this is why I am so alone...because I take this attitude with people. I've given them lots and lots of...leeway though, lots of listening, lots of patience...money too! They stole from me! Ha. Hippies. Well: this century's version of hippies anyway.

A guy at work today told me I need to speak up more. I sit there like a lump, not saying a thing. I'm quiet to begin with (until I get to know ya), but this new job I'm in - I DO NOT SPEAKY THE LANGUAGE AT ALL. Servers and gadgets and apps and virtualized....thingies and seo and classes and objects and methods and parameters and blah blah blah. And it's not just the techy jargon. It's the power talk...We're gonna change the culture of this whole company maaan......and then there's the politicking and the psychoanalysisizing and the social anthropolologizing and all of it and then some. And then there's the simple fact that some people seem to wait for me to start speaking so that they can instantly talk right over me. Whatever. Let em. Let em shoot their mouths off. I don't want to be a rock star. I don't want to be a spoken word truth bomb dropper. Well maybe. Nah, not really. I don't know. I just want the paycheck, man.

It's weird to have somebody deliver such a deeply personal piece of advice like that -- at work. If I didn't love the guy, I'd have been offended. I still was a bit. But I'm generally down...lately...a bit. I got lost in the activities on Thanksgiving and got some peace from the mentals, but the whole creepin holiday season is vibin my face off. And this job is kicking my ass down the street. And the divorce crap too. And the post marriage rebound girl too.

I don't know. I don't want them to think I'm some kind of brain dead mute moron disabled dummy. Lots of work to do on ALL fronts getting myself right. Or: just focus and speak the good thoughts when they come. So many times, the following has happened: I thought of something relevant to the conversation but didn't speak up: Then, somebody else said it, and everybody was like yeah yeah right yeah true uh huh good point...

golfDrummin

Happy Thanksgiving!...to whomever might happen by... if ya celebrate it!

I was too worried about about work stuff to take days and days off to travel to see my sisters in other states...but...luckily a friend of mine invited me to his family's Thanksgiving throwdown. "Bring a pie," he said.

Feeling pretty good. Wow, I got on a real self-help kick there, posting all kinds of stuff about gettin my mind right and gettin my mentals right. Snappin back from collapses quickly, my friend(s)!

I need a new 'project' ...maybe I'll start back up on a previous project I let go...there are many. MANY. I have an old blog that I let go (reasons complicated). I posted on that blog for nine years off and on. I locked it down, deleted many posts, opened it back up, locked it down, deleted more...so now it's pretty lean and mean. I want to create an 'art book'...or something...an artsy/craftsy kind of book that I bind myself...I got all the writings I need. Nine years worth of wacky blog posts riveted together, industrial strength, distributed guerilla style.

I started scratching the following out in my little work notebook at work yesterday (I was worried somebody would walk up to me and look at what I was writing, ha):

I was born. My awareness arose. I'm here among the other humans. Other humans have created all kinds of stuff: laws, governments, technology...some of it is great, some of it sucks.

I have a right to be here, a right to be aware, and right to be joyful. No matter what the rest of the humans say or think or do. Really it's beyond 'rights.' It's beyond the concept of 'rights.'

I am simply here.

I got this far and then something came up. I yanked this out of the notebook and folded it up and stuck it in my pocket. For some 'reason.'

Proceeding from here, I might say:

Everybody else is simply here too. We all felt the need to figure out systems to bring about some kind of order. These systems are naturally flawed. (They're a goddam good try, but they're flawed.) Some of the systems have been taken beyond...or outside the boundaries of... what is reasonable or just or wise or....(words beginning to fail here)...we've built all this stuff up, but we've left behind a lot of important wisdom...forgotten it, ignored it, couldn't fit it in...couldn't fit it in because of the character that our systems were taking....or something.

The institutions and systems are games. Games are games. If you don't play the games, everybody points at you and laughs and throws dirt clogs at you...and they put really hot balm in your jock strap so that your nuts really burn when you put it on...or they come up behind you and yank your pants down.

I guess you have to play the game as best as you can (or the best you care to. But inside there's a calm 'you' that is connected to all the other confused mother huggers out there.

I'm watching a LOT of videos from this guy Mooji. What I'm getting from him (and others) is that there's a deeper you. That deeper you is peaceful and seeing. All these problems and attachments that seem so very real -- they're invented.

The fun comes in the struggle to step out of these problems and attachments and give them the Divine Finger.

myBike

I'm trusting my 'mind' less and less so that I can trust it more and more. I'm trying to step back as many magnifications as I can...and still be close enough to able to play at this life game...I gotta play the life game some...I don't want to be sitting homeless in rags...I have to play at being 'this guy who works and knows folks and does stuff.'

If my life is a movie, though, I want to step way way back from the screen, further back than the back of the theater, back behind the projector room even...not quite out in the parking lot...maybe in the manager's office...maybe in the janitor's closet. Or something.

These negative emotions that get on me: fear, depression, anger...they're like a burning blanket I have to throw off of me. I just have to recognize them as feelings that will come and go...they'll go if I let them go.

There's an intense creativity that comes when you are really Seeing...I mean capital 'S' Seeing.

I finally did it. I finally took Monica's shoes and threw them over a power line. As mentioned before, the shoes are of the Crocs brand. I spraypainted them gold, and I tied them together with fishing line. I drove to the bar where Monica and I met. The bar hosts a drum circle every month, and that's how we met...at one of those dopey drum circles. I did this deed during a drum circle. The fuck if I know whether she was there.

I approached the entrance to the place. I was alone (obviously). People inside the place could not see me where I was standing - but people who were coming and going, of course, could see me. I didn't feel like doing this deed with people standing around watching.

I stood around the entrance smoking cigarettes and messing with my phone. Those frickn hippie drum circle types take forever to arrive and get out of their cars...and to get back into their cars and leave...with all their stuff...and they're always forgetting stuff...coming back out to their cars, "Yo, I forgot my didgeridoo."

Finally I didn't see anybody around. I tossed them once and missed, and they came down on the hood of this car, thud. (No damage.) I tossed them again and missed again, and then I realized somebody was getting in their car, just inside the gate, and they could see me if they looked over. I was like fuck it: I'm doing this. I don't give a fuck. So, on the third try, I really focused...took my time...i did my windup, kind of swung the shoes - and I tossed them. They hit the powerline in a kind of lopsided, off center way. One shoe spun and wrapped around the power line really fast, like a fuckin lasso or like Indiana Jones' whip. It zipped right around the wire and wrapped itself tight. The other shoe hung way lower and just kind of flopped down. I heard some stuff hitting the ground. Maybe it was some hardened bird shit getting shaken of the wire, I heard it hitting the grass nearby. As soon as I saw that the shoes were up there real good, I walked off to my car, down the street. I thought I heard a raised voice yelling something behind me as I walked...I couldn't tell what or who, and I didn't turn around to look. As I was walking to my car, I could hear a car coming up from behind me, and it was slowing way down. I did not look up or over. I just looked down and kept walking to my car. I think it was one of those Pontiac Vibes. The car drove by me really slowly, they must have seen what I did, and they were checking me out real hard. I was like fuckit. Whatever. I was thinking: "What are you pricks gonna do...make a citizen's arrest? Fuck off. Drive on. Nothing to see here. Go home and finger your beads."

So there were witnesses. I think I won't being going back there for a while.

So I got in my car and backed in, turned around, drove off. I ended up behind that same friggin Pontiac Vibe. I got confused, and I just wanted to get on i4 and fuck off out of there in a hurry you know. They had to get on i4 too. I didn't want to pass them or pull up beside them so I stayed behind them. I didn't want them to see my license plate. Because really, that's one of the only ways they could identify me. I didn't recognize anybody who went in or came out of the drum circle when I was waiting around to do the thing....maybe somebody could talk to somebody else and figure out that it was that quiet dude who used to come to the drum circles who nobody even knows the name of or barely talked to or liked...or...never fit in...whatever whatever times two.

I only stayed on i4 until the next exit, and then I got off.

This is what is known as bizarre behavior. I know this. I knew it before I did it.

I ain't crazy. This was an 'art project.'

goooal

I saw this lady walking out of work with boxes yesterday. It concerned me. Had she been let go? ...then I realized that the boxes were empty...she was walking out with empty boxes. I walked by her cubicle later, and I saw that her stuff was still there. She has all of these weird little plastic skulls in her cubicle. I was glad the skulls were still there.

She's pretty quiet at work...an oddball, some say. Some say she's downright taciturn or angry...or evil. Well, maybe they don't say that she's evil, but people's minds probably do go there and think that...given the fact that she's so quiet...and that she's got all the skulls and all in her cubicle...they probably think she's sitting in her cubicle casting spells on people between her other administrative duties.

She takes breaks at 10:00 am and 3:00 pm...and these are the same times when us smokers start to filter out and gather at the facility's designated smoking area. The plastic skull girl doesn't smoke. She just takes little walks.

By now you've probably figured out that I have a crush on her.

She's thirty. I'm forty. I've asked around, and apparently, I am the one who has talked to her the most out of anybody...with the exception of her immediate supervisor (muscle car mustang driving southern belle with sass...I'm sure their lunches together would be fascinating to witness). Plastic skull girl has long brown hair and blue eyes and she's thin. She wears glasses and normal looking clothes. Pants, never dresses.

There have been times when I have walked right by her, and I have said hello to her, and she didn't say a goddam thing...didn't even look at me.

One time I was talking to her, and I was shocked to learn how many siblings she has.

One time I walked up to her at a company ice cream social and started talking to her, and she walked away.

One time I was mindin my biz, walkin into the building after lunch, without looking up, and she called me over to a picnic table to rap with her about 'work' and 'life' stuff.

Recently, I sort of received a 'promotion,' and she came to where I was sitting and kind of paced around and looked at me and said stuff and fooled around...and then she walked off.

One time we both skipped this all-staff meeting (separately) and we ran into each other in the empty halls and we were roaming the halls (together)...we went back to her cubicle, and she gave me a couple of Jolly Ranchers.

Sometimes, she just don't want to talk to nobody. I don't know if she's got a boyfriend or if she even likes boys, our few conversations never quite reached that subject. I'm 10 years older than her.

Weird, huh? Why would I possibly be sitting here having a crush on her...and writing a blog post about her?

Because I'm stupid.

It's amazing how many people in Chat Roulette will 'interact' with a teddy bear seated on cushion.

This 'project' demonstrates a few things. One thing it certainly demonstrates is how bored and alone and dorky I am...and how unfit for human interaction. I thought about having the bear sitting there, and then when people connect through Chat Roulette, and they see the bear sitting there, and they laugh a little while at the goofy and innocent nature of it -- THEN I would spring into the camera's view wearing nothing but...but...I didn't do that.

Yep. Only a bored and lonely person would do this.

Another demonstration of my lonesomeness came yesterday. I was sitting here on the internet and there was a harsh knock at the door. I looked through the peep hole, and it was The Man. An officer of the court was here to serve divorce papers. I had been expecting it at some point, I guess, but it was still pretty jarring. Time to move on for real, I guess.

It's hard to build a life. It's sad, but she was my one and only real, lasting friend for a lot of years...until it started falling apart. She was my life, I followed her up and down the east coast, leaving friends and opportunities behind - to be with her. Now I have to build a new life. I've had a bunch of false starts already...different scenes...different activities...activities and scenes that I thought would be cool...and that I thought would help me meet people. It's not easy for me to make and keep friends.

At least work is going pretty good. Maybe I'll just hang with work people nine to five and whenever...

A couple of hardcore loners I know tell me that I have to just get used to being alone sometimes.

This Guy Is My Hero!

...along with this chick, and this dude and this dude. But I'm not trippin. I'm finding my own flavor. But yeah, I'm a sucker for this stuff lately....

M's Shoes

A couple of hours ago, I woke up thinking about that girl whose name begins with an 'M.' Then I started thinking about that ex-boyfriend of hers. I thought about those two, together. Apparently they have reconciled, and he has moved in with her. He was the guy before me, and now he's the guy after me. I always end up feeling bad when I think about her, I'll just call her M.

The last time she came to my place (she crept over here a couple weeks ago to get one last night of thrills. She was probably 'reconciled' with the dude at this point...because she was acting sneaky), she left her shoes over here, some Crocs. We were texting back and forth about the shoes. I was joking around, saying I would use them for 'inappropriate activities' ...you know...a fetish-type thing...just jokin around like that, crazy and dirty as usual...I won't say exactly what we were joking around about, but you get the point...that thing you do when you're alone and you're horny...but in this case, her shoes would be 'involved' in this horny activity...in some way.

I was hoping she'd come back over to get her shoes....or that she'd invite me...somewhere...to return her shoes to her. But...they're just shoes... She's got like four pairs of these goddam crocs. I hate Crocs...I think they're the ugliest shoe ever invented. Everybody in Florida wears them.

I think what I am going to do is this: Crocs don't have shoe laces, right, so I am going to get some fishing line. I'm going to attach one shoe to each end of a length of fishing line. Then, I am going to toss them up on a power line. I have not decided where yet. It would be a little creepy or stalking if I did it at her apartment complex...and I don't want to fuck her up with her boyfriend...the boyfriend - she talked about him all the time, I knew this reconciliation with them was coming, "We're just having fun," she said, "There is not a future for 'us'" ...she was straight with me, but still: like a dope, I fell for her hard. Two heartbreaks in one year is two too many (wife left in January...M pretty much ended our thing in...August, I guess). So where will I toss M's shoes? I could do it outside her friend's place, where she hangs out every night, but...again...stalking...creepy behavior. I could toss em at the place where I first met her...and I think that is what I will do. She is a regular there...she attends a particular monthly event there...which I also attend... She will arrive and see some shoes on the powerline. She will recognize the shoes. She will say "Ah, damn!" I will play dumb...if she asks me...if she even talks to me, "Nah, Baby. I got your shoes at my place. Come on over and get em." And I'll sit inside quietly, not answering the door, holding back the laughs.

Before I give the shoes back to the universe though, I am going to have my 'way' with them a few more times (just kidding...or am I....?).

I am working some long hours. My life is so jacked up, I'd rather just be at work I guess. I'm learning lots and lots of stuff...and I'm hoping I'll learn even more...and...then I'll be really productive really soon! I figure if I work long and hard I can improve my situation and maybe hang around with some work friends...and put away a little extra cheese and see what it looks like when I come out of the tunnel. I was worried that too much work would deaden my brains....but...little weeds will grow out of the cracks in my skull now and then and hopefully they'll be prettyful. I said a bunch of craaazaaay stuff on the mic at a spoken word event the other night...and it was really fun.

I got my work. I got my drum circles. I got my spoken word thing once a month. I got my mad sticky note graffiti/propaganda thing going down on newspaper boxes all over town. I'm a low-grade freak doing what freaks do. I'm at one with the universe, but I wish the universe would through a little lurv my way. CC me on some lurv, Universe!

The struggle of life -- is so much of a struggle because I am makin it so! Aren't all of my problems invented - by me? I enjoy my problems too much, I think. I'm 40 years old, and I'm still trying to figure this stuff out.

So what's my problem? What are my numerous problems? Well, the biggest one lately is that the pretty women is a troublin my mind. There's one in particular who is troublin my mind real good...with her dirty text messages and teasing and taunting and insulting and haunting. I'm no longer in her prime-time...I got the Tuesday night at 11:30 slot, or Wednesday night at 10:00. It depends on how drunk she gets, and when. The weekends are reserved for her special someone...and she considers me a 'risk.' We were playing house for a good little while there...we were together like three or four or five days a week, for like ten weeks...and then that dropped off to basically...very...very infrequent drunken mistakes. Disturbances in my positively charged void. She 99% dumped me. 100% probably would have been better.

Don't get me wrong: I have moments of absolute peace...walking meditations...waiting for a screen to load...when the dragon flies hover in to greet me....when I'm outside smokin and I begin to hear every single sound there is in the whole municipality....head clear, eyes clear. Sometimes I see a very beautiful thing...I don't mean a woman, I mean a beautiful nature thing or a beautiful human gesture

I want to hang on to my stories, but the old wise women and men tell ya: Let em go! Let go of the stories in the mind. I let them go but they come back...they come stalking back or they come charging back. The stories. The stories. I gotta tell em...maybe they'll help somebody out or give somebody a couple laughs.

Somebody lit off some very loud, crackly fireworks out in the parking lot at midnight...so that's it for my good night's sleep. I was out of cigarettes too.

beats

At first there seemed to be an inner circle and an outer circle. The inner circle that I perceived consisted of the drummers. The outer circle consisted of party-people and gawkers, people getting tanked and occasionally watching the drummers. But that's just my little mind creating make-believe divisions...boundaries...I guess. Maybe it's not just about the drummers. Obviously it's not just about the drummers. There are hula-hoopers and people playing with fire and people blowing gigantic bubbles, and there are amazing dancers, and yeah, there are people doing some drinking and probably a lot of other stuff. The circle attracts so many people who are into so many different things. It attracts such a diverse crowd, you really would not believe it unless you went there.

I walked up to this event by myself. I drank waaay too much that first time. I danced. I probably looked like an idiot...maybe I was supposed to be dancing like an idiot...be ridiculous...be ludicrous. Still, I felt like I was in the outer circle, the perceived outer circle. But I was meeting people. The people I met - some have become friends - one, became a really good friend...one broke my heart (My poor little heart. My poor little mind: I'm trusting it's output less and less these days...which means I am trusting it more and more).

After a few months, I got myself a drum. I have no rhythm, I have been told. I believed it. But now...there are times...when it seems like I am completely synched up with the Big Beat. Sometimes my hands fall clumsily and uncertain and offbeat. And I rest...and I wait for the Big Beat to absorb me again, and I join back in...and stop thinkin...

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A friend and I explored a mostly abandoned golf tennis resort. I didn't capture it very well because we were just horsing around, being goofy, not being serious journalists or nothin like that. It was weird to see a place like this - in a condition like this. The place probably used to be full of snooty snoots and richie riches...but now, the weeds and the graffiti and the cracks crept all over it.










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This is place below...is an old place I used to walk or run or ride bikes past...it used to be a happy place...but now it is a sad place...but probably: it is neither. It's just a pretty PLACE...now...in my opinion.




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I do love to be on stage...in front of my sprawling audience of zero.