melodramarama

It's come to my attention -- or rather, it's come to my inbox, that I have a small audience of friends, and that some of them are a little concerned about my mood swings. Well, for what it's worth, my updates might have been a little melodramatic lately, but that's simply what these mood swings have been doing to me -- they feel like big, traumatic pendulum swings, traveling quickly and predictably through the nice middle point and then lingering far too long at the extremes, until momentum runs out and back down and across they go.

Nobody should get all that worried. I've been trying to piece together the source of The Mood, and the best I can manage is that I'm finally recognizing certain things I dislike about the way I've been living my life up here. I've been disabling aspects of my personality because they make it harder for me to "fit in" around my coworkers, people whom I've considered friends since I moved up here, I suppose. Then, I start getting anxious about my friendships here -- I need friends, but I feel like my grasp on them is incredibly loose, like they'll "figure me out," see those bits I haven't shown them, bits I've buried away, and they'll just be done with me.

The thing is, those little bits? They're important to me. I've been, for lack of a better word, rediscovering them lately. Letting them back in. If someone doesn't care for my grim and frankly cruel sense of humor? Tough tacos. If someone doesn't care for the fact that I'm much more emotionally expressive than most people? Fuck 'em. Better to be lonely and alone than lonely in a crowd of friend who don't even know you. Besides, I've got plenty of friends. They're just scattered across the world. That's what the 'Net's for.

listening: The shrill hum of my computer's fan. The sound of laundry tumbling in the drier. The dry-tooth clatter of my keyboard typing this.
drinking: coffee, with a little milk.
eating: a soggy CostCo blueberry muffin, which I tried toasting to warm it up and dry it out a little. Now, it's got a dry warm bit on the outside and a cold wet bit on the inside. bleh.
thinking: I'm going to the gym soon. Should I really be eating muffins? I mean, there's close to a pound of butter in every bite. And coffee? Oh, yeah. Way to hydrate.

When did that happen?

You mean to tell me I missed the coming of my time of Carousel? Why didn't anyone tell me?


I am not happy about this.

bother

Forgot to bring Doomclaw the Koalanator home last night for pictures. I feel like I've gone into full psychological and social retreat these days... More and more insular -- eventually, I'll just be wearing headphones and blinders all the time, and I'll be safe and happy and all alone.

listening: random iPod: Underworld -- Dirty Epic. Reminds me of Paris, '92 -- riding the metro alone at night, tunnel lights strobing past the windows of my car.
drinking: so far? starbucks coffee, a smoothie, and water.
eating: so far? a scone, some cereal. a little jam on that scone -- raspberry, I think.
thinking: I'm tired of being one of the Emotional Walking Wounded.

is this normal?

The post-workout crash is about the most brutal mood swing I've got in my inventory. Just noticed I'd failed to close an HTML tag on last night's broken-brain update. Too tired and depressed to care. Wish I had Chameleons UK on my iPod. That gives me a way to kill another night of my life -- ripping more tunes. I feel empty, like a pillowcase that's being shaken over the balcony to chase out the dust and mites. Feeling deeply flawed today. Fortunately, I've got Doomclaw the Koalanator to keep me company [picture pending]. Missing people again. Mostly people already reading this, but a few who aren't. Doesn't matter... Lots of 'em have forgotten me or wish they have.

Ghosts.

listening: Stone Roses -- Bye Bye Badman. Ending now -- let's see what randoms up next. HAH. Rammstein -- Herzeleid. Apropos.
drinking: water. rehydrating.

GAH!!! [the way it feels living in my brain]

WHY!? Why do I work so fucking hard!?

workworkworkworkbzzzzzzzmybrainstillhurts.hertz.hearst.zzzzzz...

listening: Chicane -- first Behind the Sun, then Visions of Ibiza. Next? dunno. faster tempo to finish all this work I've been workowrkroworwrkworking on. Kruder and Dorfmeister. That'll do, pig. That'll do. No drinking music. NO DRINKING MUSIC. Whiskey == good, but whiskey while crapfeeling == bad. no pogues. no shane macgowan. no flogging molly. no drinkiesDRINK. Feck off.

Kopfschmerzen

Damn it. One of the cats jumped on my keyboard and magically undid a good ten minutes worth of logging. Fuck if I'm going to rehash stuff I've already worked out in my head. My head, incidentally, is killing me -- or trying to, at any rate. It throbs in metronymic precision. It might be throbbing is synch with some quasar, for all I know -- every one throb of my headmeat equalling a few hundred thousand pulses off in the ether.

Not feeling better anymore. Feeling tired. feeling achy. feeling sleepy. Missing people... No names, no lists. Not for you. Just people.

WHY DOES MY BRAIN HURT!?

Drinking: Green tea, loose leaf, oversteeped for extra bitterness.
Listening: Nothing now, but soon, Morphine: Cure for Pain.
Thinking: What? I can't think! Not at a time like this! Ye gods, man... Didn't you read the bit about my brain!? It's going to burst, and you want me thinking!? What in the name of all that is chocolate coated and delicious are you thinking!?