“The monsters make me hide.
Perhaps I’ll eat myself alive.”
-Chiasm, “Isolated”

This week…

Over the weekend I went to Rich’s grad party and had boku fun. We sang. Some of us passed out. Some of us played cards. Some got sick. I fell off a table (still have the bruises to show for it). I got to stay up past the sunrise and talk mythology, religion, and more mundane things besides…

Sunday I went to the Renaissance fair. It was fun. I got a book on sword fighting, so now I can relearn the names of some of the stances and defenses from stage combat class. Though I was not dressed as a Medieval guy, I did get lots of comments on my Jimmy Buffette, pirate T-shirt.

Wednesday morning I woke up in a tremendous FUNK. It was hard to breath. Angry, depressed, irritable, I couldn’t will myself out of it. Maybe it was a combination of things – a deadline for my thesis closing in on me (various other projects having kept me from it for most of the summer…and now mounting computer problems) – the struggle not to become a total sloth, at home, over the summer (when things like awards, ambitions, and accomplishments seem so far away) – an all but dead love life (these days I have lots of friendly tears on my shoulders, but my collar is bereft of lipstick) – and a spiraling sensation of loss of control over things (this is weird for me as I usually beat that feeling by NOT trying to control things…selecting currents to ride is my normal M.O.). And lately (maybe because of some of those things) I just haven’t felt like myself. I’ve felt trapped in my head, unresponsive socially, just not myself…like I got kryptonite in my socks. And Wednesday all those hydra heads came out at once, gnawing my insides, making me feel hollow and angry.

I yelled at a lot of inanimate objects.

Then I had to drive in traffic. I was just trying to turn my teeth around and eat my own brain, when I pulled behind a van with a little girl in the rear window. She looked at me and waved and smiled a gap-toothed smile. I waved back.

She made a face.

I made a face.

Between lights, we exchanged various, goofy faces. I can’t say whether I won this contest or not, but I represented! I felt better. At the risk of sounding cutesie and cliché (not to mention strange for a guy who normally takes comfort in voodoo dolls, all things painted black, and bone skull décor) I felt better after playing goofy faces with a five year old.

Sitting in my yard, letting Lenore slither laps helped me feel better too. I find focus and comfort in the tactile experience of snake. But then…I’ve always held the belief that, like wizards, writers (or any creative craftsmen) need a familiar.

Tonight I found out that the website that published a few vampire stories of mine (http://www.bloodlust-uk.com/) is putting out a physical anthology of their published pieces. So I guess I’ll have my name in a British book and a couple of stories.

Also, I discovered that French Vanilla coffee, mixed with vanilla rum, is great.

Not 100% – but better than I was on Wednesday.


“I am, I am, I said I’m not myself,
But I’m not dead and I’m not for sale.”
-Stone Temple Pilots, “Trippin’ on a Hole In a Paper Heart”