The Horror of the Front Door

I don't feel like doing shit.

It has to be my new diet. My body is slowing down my metabolism to keep myself burning 1700 calories a day. That's why exercise is so valuable to dieting, because the body works against you at every level. It want's to hold onto the fat. I lay in the bed, not wanting to move. My garbage is piling up, dirty clothes, dishes. I don't want to exercise, I don't want to leave my room, I don't want to take a shower, I don't want shit on the commode, I don't want to do a fucking thing other than sit behind my laptop and type. Low calorie consumptive tasks.

But that can't be the case for today. There is no SHOUT OUT today. It has been canceled because of the memorial for Theda Detlor, a fellow poet who died quite suddenly. It was a shock to all of us. The memorial is across town from me, so there isn't a long way to travel, although it's going to be tedious. I'll have to do the bus thing, on a Saturday, down 96th street, the Rodeo Drive of the Upper West Side. You can imagine how packed the buses will be, with people rubbing against you, chattering in your ear, filling up your space. I would walk the distance instead. It's close enough, but I would have to take the foot path through Central Park, the most direct route, and you know my sentiments against that. That last time I thought that I wouldn't make it through. Naahh, walking is definitely out.

GOD I DON'T FEEL LIKE GOING.

I know that it's this diet that's talking to me. If I go it will be an amazing caloric draw and it may even energize me for further things. But I fear that that's just me explaining things away. What if it's not my diet? What if it's not my body reacting to the lower caloric intake, but rather my mind? What if I'm becoming like Howard Hughes, a shut in, afraid to go out, growing more paranoiac by the day? The slow draw to insanity. I'm homeless, it happens to us all. Sooner or later we all SCHNAPP. Getting out and around others may be good for me. A breath of fresh air, some new/old faces, stretching my limbs, getting off my ass. All of these things are beneficial.

THEN WHY AM I SO LOATHE TO DO THEM?

I don't think about it, because the more that I think about it the more that I'll grow anxious, and the more anxious I get, the less inclined that I am to do anything. That's just the way that I am. So, to take my mind off of the issue, I blog. Yeah, I find blogging to be like comfort food for the skull. I'm happy...until my webtools begin giving me problems. Yeah, delayed requests, long uploads or no uploads at all, freezing screens. It's as if there is a force against me trying to relax. I struggle with it, plodding on. Even websites are not responsive. Their servers returning with, bullshit like: Host Denied, and Network Timeout. I struggle with it because I really do need to blog. I really do! But to no avail. The crappy post that I was able to cobble together was not worth posting. I gave up.

I stood over the sink full of dishes, staring down and dreaming. I never had a problem cleaning things before, especially my dishes, why now? What was going on in my mind that I didn't want to participate in life any longer? Why was I giving up on everything?

I stood in front of the window, staring out at the brick wall across the narrow courtyard. Yeah, that's right, there is a solid brick wall right before my window. You see window's like this on comedy shows, where the landlord is boasting about scenic views. Well, I stare at it. The chinks in the mortar, the chips in the brick. What is going on in my mind? I really don't want to go to the memorial. I'm tied of mourning. I've mourned the demise of my entire life. You mean there's more?

It's a show of support for the family. I guess so. It's nice to see all of the friends of a deceased person get together to mourn their passing. It's not so much for the dead, but for the living. I stood over my laptop, looking down at it, and it's inviting arms. I have been glued to this chair for days now. DAYS. Not moving other than to get up and make something to eat. What will I do today if not just repeat the agenda of the past few days, blog, write, build and destroy. That's it. A vigorous and eternal circle.

Thinking about going out to the Associated Supermarket yesterday, I was amazed as to how much everything, even the minor things, bothered me. Waiting for the elevators or on line was interminable; encountering people, intolerable; dealing with the chill, snowy weather, insufferable. I was as hypersensitive as if I was rubbed raw and the exterior world was torture. I could not wait to get back to my little room. Its four walls closing in around me like a comfortable, warm blanket. Now I know what the phrase: 'snug as a bug in a rug' is trying to convey.

I'm going to catch enormous grief over not going to this memorial today, but I honestly don't believe that I can suffer the scores of chattering heads, and shifting faces that I will be presented with. Not like this. I am too weak in and of myself to deal with all of these signals to the brain. There just isn't enough battery power to push this vehicle any farther. I'm struggling with dealing with the outside world. It's growing more and more difficult. I'm not giving up, I just need a break. This is the first Saturday that I've had off from the SHOUT OUT without being in pain in a long time. That counts for much.

I sit down in front of my laptop. At least I'm wearing slacks today. I need to either get up soon and get it together, or make another blog post and let it continue to find a state of rest. No doubt I will be forgiven for all of my transgressions, I will be granted clemency for not showing up today. That's the way life is I'm sure.

Now, for my part, I just have to participate in it again.

Hmmmm, I think I'm going to title this next post: The Horror of the Front Door.

Hobobob