Guess what? Here I am, at Writing Time, and instead of being bright eyed, bushy tailed, and mildly curious about when exactly I got a tail, I am all super sleepy and ready to curl up into a ball and lapse into a coma for, of, no more than a few centuries.

Stupid sleep apnea. Stupid random sleep patterns. Stupid total lack of structure in my life combined with getting almost no sunshine and having little to no self-discipline or ability to stick to a routine meaning my Circadian rhythms are syncopated to the point of cacophony.

Stupid excessively elaborate vocabulary.

Right now, I feel like I wanna go find this Mister Sandman asshole and tag him in the junk with a crowbar.

Although if he brings me a “dream, and makes him the cutest that I’ve even seen”, I might just be willing to call it even.

Had session number 2 with Doctor Costin today. Went fine. I like him. He seems like the sort of therapist I need. Willing to challenge me and ask the awkward questions and basically be that vital Other, the person who can ask me the questions that only someone outside my brain (unlike you nice people) can see to ask.

It is hard to fix your own broken mind, because your mind is broken.

At one point, he put forth the idea that my avoidant tendencies might lead to me “forgetting” an appointment with him.

I tried to get the idea across to him that no, therapy is the most important thing in my life right now, and I am in no ways ambivalent about it, so there’s no chance I will avoid the therapy like I might avoid other social situations.

Plus, honestly, I am quite comfortable in therapy. Well, as comfortable as one can be when digging through one’s personality like an archeologist looking for the buried ancient treasure that is slowly driving the locals insane with its dread eldritch energies.

Hmmm, mental note : just had a good idea for an episode of X-files.

But therapy does not bother me. I understand the process quite well, I am completely sure I want to be there, I am not a person with a big problem talking about myself, and honestly, as sad as this is, I really appreciate a solid hour of someone paying attention to me.

Some day, this desperate need for attention will get me in serious trouble. It’s my thirsty dog, the insatiable need that burns in me and satiating it seems impossible.

I did not get a lot of attention as a child, and it seems that set up a pattern of eternal need in me. Pay attention to me! Listen to me! Value me! Validate me! LOVE ME MOM!

That will have to come up in therapy too. Next appointment is 8:15 AM on the 22nd, so not this Thursday but the next. I can hardly wait.

Otherwise, things have been mellow. Watched a couple of very bad movies with my dear friend, the glamorous and fascinating Felicity.

One was a movie called Night Raiders, or its original title, Night of the Kickboxers.

There is not much kickboxing, to be honest. So right there, it’s already lying.

It was a very bad movie, but luckily for us, it was the good kind of bad, the kind that makes you laugh at how incredibly inept and terrible it is. The movie includes some of the worst “acting” I have ever heard, with some of the most bizarre line reads that place the emphasis on entirely the wrong words, as well as some of the clunkiest and most unnatural dialogue and a villainess struggling with so much bad accept, she’s nearly incomprehensible. And of course, being expected to thing the Middle East and Arizona look exactly the same.

The nuggets of goodness : Adam West as a scientist whose daughter is kidnapped so the bad guys can get their hands on his big, powerful laser, and for us Star Trek and/or Addams Family fans, it also features Carel Struycken, who played both the enigmatic Mister Homm, Lwaxana Troi’s ever-present, ever-silent personal assistant, on all the modern Star Trek series, and was also Lurch in the modern Addams Family movies.

For those wondering, he does actually speak. In this movie, he quite clearly says “With pleasure!”. Two whole words! I was beginning to wonder if he’s mute.

Wow, it’s dark out, and it’s only 8pm. Summer truly is over.

A perfect time for that coma I was talking about! Seeya later, readers.