Tuesday, August 23, 2005

dark days

If she weren't writing in blood
She'd bring him her jokes
A new liver
And a shovel for the mud
If he were not knee-deep in mud
He'd bring her his drugs
He'd get her a typewriter

If this is the life
Why does it feel so good to die today?
Blue to gray
Grow up and blow away...
-Metric - Grow Up and Blow Away

These have been dark days for me.

Work is a constant struggle. Every day I spend at cash is another day I feel a little more demoralized. Tara, back from a week long vacation, is a raging bitch with a fetish for condescension bordering on the blatantly insulting. You are dumb, she loves to imply. And I am solidly in control. Ugh. It makes my stomach turn.

Emma thinks I should seek help. She told me a couple of horror stories about what it's like to have a nervous breakdown, and that got me a bit worried. Mostly I just feel numb, but I am also fighting back tears most of the day. Faking it is a fine art that I had mastered, but my ability to summon false enthusiam and insincere apologies for the malfunctioning of the parking machine is faltering. Ganesh help me if one of these days I simply snap and let loose on everyone.

I am really a drama queen. Perhaps this will all sort itself out. Or maybe I will seek counselling after all. I need someone to shake this snowglobe of my brain around a bit, to shovel the ice off the roof and make angels on the lawn.

For now I am listening to a lot of Buck 65, Metric, Portishead, Zero 7 & Henry Binns. Portishead's Live in Roseland New York is the greatest orgasm in musical form that I've heard in a long time. Moody shit like that really gets me going.

All the flowers on my orchid died.

I'm trying not to feel too symbolic about that.

And I'm trying, Ringo, I'm trying real hard to be the shepherd.

[Coke is dead as dead. But heroin is coming back in a big fucking way...Oh man, I'm going, that's all there is to it man, I'm fucking going. I know, baby, you'd dig it the most...Mind if I have a sip of your tasty beverage to wash this down?]

And once I get started on the Pulp Fiction quotes, I just can't stop.

Sorry about the Lewis Carroll factor. I promise nobody gave me acid tonight.



by Nome at 12:35 AM
17 mews

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