UCSC almost time for Heidegger
beautiful day! beautiful day!
with a modicum of dayness
12:50 pm
Tuesday, May 9, 2006

madd skittish

Sunday night, Punkin was over and we were doing work, hanging out, like ya do and I began to tell her about how I'd been having involuntary hallucinations all day. Weird auras around the edges of my vision. Floating, sparkley gold curlicues romping around in my field of sight. (Katherine says she gets these when she holds her breath for two long and is doing physical activity, say weight lifting.) All this as I curl up in the fetal position on the sofa, huddled in a quilt, rocking slowly to myself, pulling at my hair.

The craziness is coming. coooOOOOOMMMmiiinnnggg. The crazy is neigh.

I asked Lauren, "Is it going to be okay when I totally go crazy the fuck during Road Trip?"
"Of course it is hunny. That's why everyone does Scav: to go crazy."

Well, at least I won't be alone.

Why this sudden onslaught of the madd? The tyranny of the obsessive? The heavy hand of doubt and confusion? The increase in THE NOISE in my head? I have some ideas.

I have no idea what I want right now. I say I do. Some people and their goddamn persnickering think they know too. I think we're all wrong. Somewhere along the line, I something in me changed. Come too close and I run! Flee! screaming to myself Why God WHY did I even stick around this long?!?

I woke up yesterday with a strong STRONG desire to fuck my nose up. THAT is never, NEVER EVER anything close to being a good sign about ANYTHING.

Why? I don't want to deal. My solitude, my set-in-my-wayness, my life, my personal Dasein is heavily guarded where once it was abhorred. I learned to be alone. Real well. The idea of having to change my life to let someone in -- Oh the horror! The idea of being "required" or "default obligated" to spend massive amounts of time with someone, automatic kisses, not being alone for my morning ritual. Ghastly. An abomination.

When is it exactly that I became so closed, guarded, distrusting and afraid of my fellow individuals? When did I lose the courage? When did I lose the heart? I'm saddened by this; deeply saddened. I remember I used to jump into these things with what has proved to be a rather reckless, thoughtless abandon. I would almost trade it for this obsessive confusion and over thinking.

And let's not even approach the idea of sex. I don't feel comfortable enough with myself, nor with anyone else. The thought alone makes me so uncomfortable that typing this, my stomach is clenched and it's taking a sheer monstrous will to continue typing. And now that I'm done, I may need to chain smoke.

I did a interpretive reading of the above and Lauren asked, exclaimed really, "WHAT? But you used to like sex, A LOT?" And I guess I still do. But thinking about sex, either theoretically or being faced with the actual prospect fills me mostly with dread. Sheer terror, to be quiet honest. And I don't possess the mental/emotional make-up for one-night stands. Trust me: I've tried. I end up feeling pretty hateful towards ALL OF HUMANITY AND EVERYTHING THEREIN for about three days afterwards. Then I want to crawl in a hole. Except for that one time in France. . . oh tasty French men.

Yet, I do crave love. I do want affection, support, the whole shebang. Hebang. I do want intimacy, someone to be comfortable with, kisses in the morning and dancing in the kitchen.

But I fear, that with The Love the Broke My Heart, the Love That Never Was as It Should Be, and The Love that Beckons from Afar, I may be incapable. At least now. Who's to blame me for being scared and pretty damn unwilling?

What it comes down to is that I'm not sure I have the capacity to go through the requisite bullshit to get to anything else besides said initial bullshit. And that's just it: I don't want to deal with bullshit. At all. A long time ago I decided to keep all bullshit to a minimum, mostly meaning not creating or bringing any into my life if it can be helped. But, dating? I might as well fuck that plan.

Yet that being said, I'm in no way saying I'm done with this whole crazy looking for love-happiness-fufillment-commitment thing. In no way is that true. I'm just whelmed. Whelmed and skittish. Mad skittish. Let it be known.

So, that's where the crazy started. To your bowl of AnxietyPanicDreadHORRORconfusionhope, add a heaping teaspoon of Scav Hunt, a smattering of assignments, a sprinkle of Mother's day, two sick children, and pour into a hallucination-greased pan. Bake at 420 degrees with no sleep, for three days, and you'll get a tort ripe for sharing at the Madd Hatter's Tea Party.

EEEEeeeaaaAAAHHHHHCcccckkkkKKKKKK. the fuck.