That's right, it's been lights out mother- fucker. I can't keep my eyes open during the day. Monday I slept till late, around 11:00. WHAT THE FUCK? Who the fuck sleeps until eleven O'clock? I woke up groggy because I had those funky dreams. I swear to god, the dreams alone are enough to make you want to stop LUVOX. Fuck the dick. I woke up groping with my right hand, I mean, really groping, and I clutched my radiator. It that bastard was hot, I would have been hurt bad.
Another dream, that you remember living it as you dream it, shook me the fuck up! It was so close to real life! A close friend had called my home from the hospital, they were sick and in trouble. I hung up the phone grabbed my keys and headed for the door. Then I jumped out of bed. I mean, propelled myself out of bed, and was completely confused as to why I was standing there naked with a sheet across my shoulders, when I was fully dressed with keys in hands only seconds before.Fucking LUVOX.
I dunno. I do know that with the dissolving of it from my blood- stream, my nerves are coming back. Loud noises outside cause me to grit my teeth. People talking make me anxious. Crowds are maddening. I stay inside on Monday and try to write on my blog and novel, but as soon as I start, my eyes droop. I don't fuck around now. When that happens, I turn around and jump right into bed. No ifs, ands, or buts. And the second that my head hits the pillow I am out cold. It's as if I jumped on a pillow of bricks that knocked the fuck out of me.
This occurs seven or eight times a day, for anywhere from one to two hours. Yep. All day long. But that's alright. I ain't going the fuck outside anyway. I'm a shut-in, remember? I watch the sun fall around my air conditioner. Now, after dinner, I'm Mr. Happypants. Yeah. I'm so full of energy that I am jumping around and around. I put on Hip Hop music to get me going. I am on fire. I clean my room, over and over again. I even clean the sputz from under my desk that I like to let collect. My Internet goes down, but that's no problem, Mighty Hobo is here! I cycle all of my devices, hook and unhook them and within moment I have it back up again.
I get behind my computer and start on this novel: TAKEN FOR DEAD, and roll baby, roll! The characters are jumping like trout. I'm throwing all kinds of shit at them, and they're dealing with it the best that they can. If I was a god, I would be a real sonofabitch. I curse people and put the dark cloud over their heads. I strike them with infirmities, and cause them to betray their trust in each other. I make their lives as miserable as my own.
Do I have a miserable life? Not really. As long as I have ants in the backyard and a magnifying glass I'm fine. I'm a fucking shut in people. If it wasn't for Saturdays at the SHOUT OUT, I probably wouldn't see anyone. Is that a miserable life? I dunno. Who the fuck am I to decide what is miserable and what is not. Lemme tell you something. Two years on the fucking street, with a penny in your pocket, and no change of clothes. Now THAT is a miserable motherfucking life. Hold on a minute, I want to feel a little better. Let me out and incinerate some helpless ants. Do you ever wonder what does one of them think when another one goes up in smoke from the skies? What the fuck did he do to piss god off?
I look at the clock. It's five in the morning. So what. I continue to type. The sun rises up behind me. I'm still working. I've reached nearly two hundred pages of text. It's seven O'clock. I close down everything and crawl into bed. I rest my head on the pillows. Nothing happens. It's eight O'clock. I'm staring at at the ceiling. Around 8:15 I black out and wake up...you got it...11:00 Oclock.
This is not looking good for Tuesday. I'm supposed to go to Dr. A's today and put together a file cabinet for him. I'm also supposed to go to Dr D.'s session. I don't do either. I just stay in my fucking room, sitting on the edge of my bed. And then my eyes droop and I crash to more vivid dreams, wild dreams of terror and fear where my eyes would open and my heart would be racing. I really mean it. These dreams are frightening. You wonder how your own brain can cook this shit up.
I try to work on my blog. I get tired. I try to work on my Novel. I get tired. I wash dishes, my mind drifts. I throw out garbage. My head gets foggy, dizzy. I jump into bed and I'am out in a moment. This happens all day long. So I compensate. I sleep all day and stay up all night. On Tuesday night i work on my novel until 2:30 where I get up and take a nice hot shower. Then I work on my novel again until 4:00 and leave to go food shopping. By 5:00 I'm back behind the computer. Too bad the laundry mat isn't 24 hours. I would love to do my laundry in the hellified hours of the morning.
I sleep to 11:00 today after going to sleep at seven am. Today I work on the novel, get dressed and head on down into the Way and over to Doc. A.'s office, and when I get there he's not there, but his secretary is. There were boxes that needed to be opened and shelving removed, but there were no tools to do the job. No tools. I wanted to be here for at least until five O'clock. The reason why I wanted to stay so late? Well, I got an email from Charlie, my old business partner, and we had made plans to meet each other at the old bar.
I wanted to kill some time with this, but no. So I headed back home. Got inside, took my clothes off and blogged and worked on my novel. No sooner do I start, my eyelids get heavy. My head starts to nod. What do you think my chances are that I will fall flat out asleep before I am to leave to see him. How much do you want to bet?Karma.
Hobobob
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