Two Forces Meeting

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I'm up early, around four O'clock.

That's right, as soon as I woke up I looked at my cheap assed watch. I roll over, the blanket falling away. I sit up...and glance over to Dante. He is fast asleep. Well, I guess it's time for a shower. My body knows when it wants/needs one. I grab towel and washcloth and a pair of slacks.

I stand under the near scalding water, blasting my skin clean, scrubbing down hard with soap. Paul the Stooge walks in and goes into a stall, smoking a cigarette. I stop, pull back the shower curtain slightly so that I can see my clothes hanging on a nearby hook. I was always moved by the shower scene in Psycho, and I wouldn't like to be snuck upon unexpectedly and instead of being stabbed to death, having my hung up slacks rifled through. Paul the Stooge soon leaves me to return to my pleasant shower.

I emerge wearing retread slacks and going commando, which is becoming a regular habit with me. What the fuck is going on? Do I just don't want to do laundry for a reason? Am I still coming apart here? Bits of me falling to neglect? I come out of the bathroom, returning to my bed area and search for a retread shirt. I find one.

Next, I fall to the floor and give myself twenty. Yeah, pushups. It still doesn't feel good at all. I hop on the bed and do twenty sit ups. My stomach muscles lock in pain. I curl into the fetus position. Am I THAT out of shape. I go back to sleep like that. I awake to the lights being turned on in the dorm. 6:15AM.

For the first time I hop out of the bed, make it, pull out my bag, all without pause. I am spry. Could all of the walking that I'm doing to and from IDC for my therapy appointments finally having an effect? I surprise myself. I noticed that making the choice to do my calisthenics came easier, if not doing them.

At the stroke of 7:00AM, I am out of the door. I skip the fools at Starbucks. I just don't have time for their shenanagins. I've got to be back by Nine O'clock for the Morning Meeting. Instead I head to Think Coffee for an equally expensive cup and a good table in the corner. A table in which, almost a lifetime ago, I could have reviewed porn in private, but today there was no reason at all for the seat. It was just the best situated in the house. Maybe it was force of habit.

I go though my routine now, email, blog, then back to the box for Morning Meeting, subway, number six train to Madison Starbucks, more blogging, then to the library for some 2142. I'll try and hit that damn screenplay later. I am sincerely stuck. At the conclusion, of which I feared. I had no conclusion going in and the self resolve strategy is not working. Which means that I'll no doubt have a poor ending.

So I'm laying off of it for a little while, just to let it percolate. Today, I have Nurse G. I'm not really looking forward to that. Not at all. I complained to Dr. L. about her and she tells me why don't I tell her. Why don't I tell my therapist that she sucks? Does at least some of that sound stupid to you? I think that I'll pass on that advice.

"How do you feel about it?" Nurse G. asks, concerning my getting caught on a jag. Of course I feel sorry that I got caught, I say. "So, maybe you wanted to get caught," she says very astutely. I'm beginning to think so. I think that I am courting disaster when it came to that. I could be. I could be. "You couldn't stop yourself, so you wanted someone to stop you. You wanted somebody to help you." I smirk at this assessment. I think she's on the wrong track. I'm not impressed. I agree that it was most likely intentional but for different reasons. She makes my session into an alcohol intervention, as if I don't get an earful of it with Dr. L. Look, I say, I'm having a nervous problem, can you give me something for THAT? "But changing your medications will not stop you from drinking." I know that, I want it to STOP MY NERVOUSNESS!!! I'm already taking something to stop me from drinking. Oh forget it. I let her go on about drinking, and how I'm caught in the clutches of evil. I tried to tell her that at one time it was the case but those days are over.

It was like giving a brick wall a blowjob. And I really don't feel like repeating myself to another therapist.

We parted as combatants. Shaking hands and holding daggers behind our backs. Until next time bitch, we thought to each other. Great, an antagonistic therapist/patient relationship. The first one of it's kind. But I just don't like being told how to think. I know what I'm thinking. You can tell me what YOU think I'm thinking, and if you're right I'll smile at you. But if you're going to tell me what and how to think, I'll naturally grow stubborn.

I walk back to Thirty Fourth street to the library. The day is nice, but Autumn is quickly approach- ing, you can feel it in the shade. It cooler.

I'm going over my therapy in my head during the long walk. Listening to it on my headphones.
People as walking by, on their way to somewhere. To jobs, to homes, to family.

I'm walking to the library.

Hobobob