So, just for the record, here I am, once more facing my daily task of writing a blog entry of a thousand or so words, with a great idea for the kind of substantial and interesting blog entry I always wish I was writing but too damned tired despite trying to sleep all day to pull it off? Because it was too damned hot for me to sleep during the day and now that the sun went down suddenly I feel like I have ten pound of wet cement in my head? Plus a pound for each eyelid? For real?

Seriously, this is what you are telling me? Jesus flying anal fuck, what the fuck is wrong with me that I cannot keep a very small amount of routine and regularity in my life?

I am serious, sometimes I get so damned tried of improvising my way through life because I just cannot seem to maintain any kind of order in my life, because my internal life is so damn chaotic that I am always forced to scramble to adjust all the time… I feel like I am constantly treading water in a sea of chaos and madness, just barely keeping my head above water, and let me tell you, brothers and sisters and twisted misters, that is one hell of a piss poor way to live.

Someday drain this damned pool already so I can get the hell out and do something else with my life.

OK, so maybe being sleepy is making me a little cranky.

But still, I really do get tired of this treading water crap. And yet, I know it is at least partly my own fault, because as I have said before, part of me really is hostile to order and actually wants to improvise its way through life.

After all, that is the only way to maintain total freedom of action at every moment, right? You are only safe (and entertained?) if you can flee in any direction at any moment. And that can only be true if you make no commitments, no plans, no structure, no form, no substance, no baggage.

And yet, another part of me yearns for structure with the passion of the heroine of a romance novel. It is why I have this weird, almost OCD like compulsion to follow through with what little plans I do make. Often when I plan to do something, or a short sequence of somethings, I find it incredibly difficult to change that plan even when things change. I just execute the program like a robot because I am so relieved to be out of the endless pit of formlessness and endless possibility that the idea of going back to having to figure out what to do with myself before it is absolutely necessary is unthinkable. Terrifying. No no, must cling.

It is at these moments that I can see the appeal to some people of fascism. I can understand the dangerous and dark allure of simply not having to decide anything for yourself any more. Just do what you are told and you will be OK. It is very much like childhood.

And I had a fairly unstructured childhood. Other than school, nobody expected anything of me or included me in anything. So I just basically amused myself and stayed out of the way and did not bother anyone.

And the sad fact is, I am still doing that to this very day. I do not know anything else. And I am going to be 40 in less than a year.

Pathetic, is it not?

Man, it sucks to be crazy. And not even the fun kind of crazy, where you have delusions of grandeur or do crazy dramatic things that make the news or at least attract the attention of competent caregivers who can lock you away and take care of you.

(Being in a mental hospital is also a lot like childhood. )

No, it is the very very dull kind of crazy, where you are just a sad person nobody notices who quietly and unobtrusively does nothing whatsoever with his life and dies a lonely and pathetic death at 50.

Assuming I make it that far under my own inept care.

I mean, take right now. I had zero appetite around supper time, so I had a very light meal. Just a little leftover pasta, which I know damn well does not make me very full for long. So now here it is, 10:20 PM or so, and I am very hungry.

So I go eat, right? Simple.

But no, the planning compulsion part of my brain insists that because I planned on not eating again until after midnight, I cannot eat until after midnight.

After all, if I ate now, what would I do after midnight? Eat again? Wait till breakfast? Madness.

And of course, I am still very very sleepy, so I am conflicted as to whether to eat or sleep.

It sucks when basic biological drives are fighting it out, does it not? Food or rest, which one will win? See this epic battle at the Cattledome this Sunday, Sunday, Sunday!

Now the sensible thing to of would be to have just a little bit to eat, then go to sleep, then eat my larger snack when I get back up.

And who knows, if I concentrate hard enough, I might just be able to pull that off, defying all odds and previously established patterns of stupidity.

But it is at least as possible that I will just go straight to bed when I am done here, thus guaranteeing that, if I manage to sleep despite being hungry, I will wake up with low blood sugar, feeling horrible and cold and angry, and go through a Low Blood Sugar Incident with all its stages of unpleasantness just because I am too stupid to do the right thing.

Then again, maybe I do those things, subconsciously, just to liven up my life a little.

What I am basically saying is that I am fucked in the head.

I am sure that is news to you all.