I am immobile. Grim. My thoughts boil, dissipate, scald on inquiry. I can not adjust my moods to the indulgence of either obligation or whim. So I stoop, incongruous with a sustainable architecture. Contradictions define me. I am exhausted and vehemently opposed to the clock’s covetous hands withdrawing my youthful diversions. My habits offend me and yet I am fondly and inconsolably dedicated to their exploitation. The most significant discovery I have made in the past few months is that I no longer want to be unhappy. I understand unhappiness. The alternative remains incomprehensible. My mouth is a monument, grief-stricken but no longer frequented by superstition. It dips well below the horizon. I frown mostly and I’ve found that the face really does assume the angles most held.
*
My hair has started to turn grey. Not grey precisely. The hairs are hysterically white. My grandmother had a head full of freshly laid snow, immaculate and cohesive. I am 32, a red head it could be worse but I still find myself cringing whenever I see one of those albino imposters sprouting from my autumnal mane. Even if you approach life slowly, delicately it still passes by in an instant. I am not aging well, despite my good intentions, genetics don’t give a shit about my intentions.
*
I find that I cry less. That I spend less time engaged in preparations for war. I spend less time generating ulterior motives from happenstance. Some days inexplicably I even forget to hate myself. I realize that soon I will have to articulate my goals to a stranger. My goals have always been survival oriented. Get out of bed, keep breathing, feed, clothing optional/shower mandatory. My existence has been about maintaining a state of “not dead”. I want more than “not dead” but I am not sure how much more. I don’t think I need much.
*
I am not ready for real life friends. I just want to be able to go to the grocery without the comfort of my automatisms. For God sake stop talking to yourself in public it generates unwanted conversation. Contrary to popular belief talking to yourself while wildly flapping your hands does not discourage people from socializing. If anything it seems to encourage them.
*
As for jobs. I am at my very core an Anarchistic. I could not, would not, should not work in an office. I cannot drive or operate machinery and I cannot be responsible for a herd of living beings (except maybe plants). Being a surgeon is completely out of the question. I probably can’t watch a store because of the absence seizures. Whenever I think of working I think of all that I can’t do I am not sure if I am being pessimistic or realistic circumstances considered.
*
My seizures are very frequent. Speaking of which my seizures have actually gotten worse since the pneumonia. My pupils are asymmetrical more often than not these days. I am in a chronic mental stupor. Please don’t let this be a permanent change. Is it even possible to work outside of home at my own pace? My pace being on par with your typical earth-dwelling mollusk. I couldn’t get any slower if I stood still and waited for the task to spontaneously complete itself.
*
My idea is to get a physically demanding job, something that would allow me to skip my daily exercise and that would be mechanical and repetitious (memory issues make complicated tasks impossible at the moment). Grave digging for example. Unfortunately I believe they use machines to dig graves which I cannot legally operate. I only want to work part-time in the mornings when I am at my sharpest. I want an apartment/house suitable for a three person family. Not a big space mind you as I have to be capable of maintaining the space in a habitable fashion. I want my bedroom door to close and lock! I want to have vocal sex! I want to be less self-conscious. I want to write poetry books and live with purpose. I want a functional brain, which might be the one thing I can’t have. I want the independence that comes from learning. I want to see a memory specialist desperately.
*
Today’s something different is letting you read my diary. I have no idea how to write a diary and so I can never figure out if I should pretend I am talking to an audience or if I should talk to myself. Diaries confuse me and to be honest I rarely write in mine which is probably some kind of criminal offense given that I am a writer. I mostly pretend I am talking to someone else and so I weirdly explain things about myself that are obvious and that I already know. Diaries really confuse me and I think they make me sound insane lol
mindlovemisery 