Can’t say it’s much of an improvement.

But then again, I just woke up all hungry and horny and miserable, so I might not be the best judge of things at the moment.

I am eating my leftovers from last night’s Lamb Rogan Josh from Tandoori King Cafe as I am typing away at you nice folks. It’s spicy and delicious.

Maybe a little too spicy. And I ordered it Mild, as always. They also have Very Mild, but I will die from chemical burns to the soft palate before I order THAT.

I know that refusing to let aging give me blank tastes seems like a weirdhill to choose to die on, but I have refused to be boring for my entire life and I am told old and cranky and set in my ways to stop now.

I refuse to order the food equivalent of an Easy Listening radio station.

Spicy food does help clear out the sinuses, though, and mine pretty much always need it. It’s annoying the keep having to blow my nose, but I will feel better afterward.

My birthday FRED will be at 7 pm tonight at the White Spot at 3 Road and Ackroyd. I guess I am looking forward to it. It’s nice to have a time, one day a year, when I am allowed to want to be the center of attention.

Bit worried that I haven’t gotten a card from my Mom yet. She’s usually quite punctual with that kind of thing. I hope everything is okay.

Experimenting with this feeling of crankiness and irritability. I have to admit, on one level, it’s actually kind of fun.

Grr, world. I am cranky and cross and quite put out. Cross me at your peril, for I know many angry, cutting words and have a rapier wit!

Rapier than what, I don’t know.

Honestly, what I want for my birthday right at the moment is sleep. I am running on like three hours of sleep right now and it ain’t enough. Once I am done eating and have my 500 words for this session, I am going to get my laundry started then go the fuck back to bed and to hell with everything else.

Yesterday’s experiment in voiding my buitterness and pain seems to have done me some good, which is nice. There is still a lot of that in me, but it felt good to get rid of a ton of it in all those “I hate” statements.

And I stand by all of them. I hate my stupid fucking life and all its pointless bullshit and unwarranted pain and deep down agony and confusion.

PRetend happy just isn’t cutting it any more. For decades, I have limped along pretending to be okay well enough to fool even myself.

But I am not okay. I am a deeply unhappy, unsatisfied , unfulfilled person and it high time I face this fact and maybe even do something about it.

Or at least put a name to my suffering.

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Part 2 of My Birthday Blog is brough to you by the letters X and Z and the number 5.

I’ve had a little sleep and I feel a little better. But I still feel cranky and depressed.

I will do my best to straighten out my mood enough to behave myself at my own damn birthday party, at least. I know that my emotions are very close to the surface and that I am in the middle of an exceptionally long and productive emotional expectorations and so the risk of inappropriate responses is high.

So I am watching myself like a hawk, so to speak.

I am always very emotional on and near my birthday. I guess that’s my response to being “solarized” in the astrological sense, meaning the Sun is in my Sun sign and that means I am in a somewhat overcharged state.

In a perfect world, this would actually make me super happy as I would be able to use all that energy to buoy my mood and I would be flying high.

Instead, I just feel moody and pissed off at the world. Wonderful.

Oh well, at least I am finally feeling like a teenager. Next I will be telling my roomies that they don’t understand me before slamming my bedroom door behind me, turning my music up super loud, and flopping down on my bed in tears, my teen heart breaking.

I know how this works. I’ve seen TV.

Been pretty horny lately. but without the motivation to do much about it. My low success rate re : actually getting to ejaculate has me down.

Maybe a partner would help. Maybe not. Lately, when I imagine myself in a realstic sexual situation (as in, me and an adult human male), I imagine myself panicking and switching into “performance mode” where I simply stop thinking about my own needs and use my considerable gifts to rock my partner’s world.

Sex can be really hard for me, as I have mentioned before. No matter how much my body wants it, I also experience a very strong panic attack type reaction and it’s like my mind goes blank and….

I’m sorry. I can’t continue that line of reasoning because I just got off the phone with my mother and now it feels weird.

Audience : Oh right, NOW it’s weird.

I always love hearing from my mother. She is such a sweet and gentle soul and I love her boundlessly and with great joy.

Damn, I should have asked her if she has an email address yet. I would love to be able to email her. Phoning her is not really an option because reasons.

Being cuckoo in the coconut reasons.

Mental health reasons.

But email I could totally do. Unlike a phone call, email doesn’t barge into people’s live and demand you pay attention to it RIGHT NOW.

Also, it’s just text, so it’s not as socially stimulating as a phone call either.

I hate that my mental illness makes it so hard to stay in contact with people.

On the other hand, they could always contact me too, and they never do. So I guess they don’t want to stay in contact with me all that bad.

What a happy thought to end on.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

Got a lot of bad stuff to exorcize from myself tonight.

Because I am really fucking sick of my stupid fucking life. I want to finally go out into the world and start living instead of merely surviving in my stupid little hole.

I hate this room, I hate this computer, I hate the filth I live in because I am too emotionally crippled to clean, I hate the fact that I turn 46 tomorrow and emotionally I am not even a teenager yet, I hate my low station in life where here I am, brain the size of a planet, and all I can do is barely survive two rungs up from the bottom of the ladder 9nelow me are welfare and homelessness), I hate that I have so many health problems, many of them undiagnosed, that it’s a wonder that I don’t just keel over and die, I hate that I am so unhealthy because my mental illness keeps me from looking after myself, I hate that I have next to no power, say, influence, or impact on the world, I hate that my life consists mostly of playing video games in order to escape the agony of my existence, I hate that my existance is agony, I hate that I can so clearly feel and see all the good2 I could do in the world 9both for others and for myself) if only I could slip depression’s leash and run free and get the piece of paper people demand before they let me show them all my magical abilities, I hate that I see nothing but a slow and stupid slide into to a pathetic and meaningless grave in my future, I hate that what dreams I have had have died like dinosaurs in the LaBrea tar pits of my mind, I hate that I am pathetically and cringingly dependent on others for even this pale existance, I hate that despite all this ability, I can’t seem to make myself put my work in front of others who might be able to help me, I hate that I am so weak and lame and pathetic that all the magical powers in the world can’t motivate me enough to overcome my roadblocks, I hate that I have all this latent rage that makes me want to smash everything around me with a SLEDGEHAMMER and destroy everything I can get my hands on out of sheer mindless animal aggression, I hate that fatuous fucking idiot I see in the mirror every time I take a piss, and most of all, I hate that I hate myself so fucking much!

And I hate how huge and unweildly that paragraph is, plus I hate that I am too pissed off and emotional to fix it.

I am just plain sick to death of my life, my place in the world (or lack thereof), sick of having less than zero dignity, sick of being this ludicrous excuse for a human being, sick of being sick all the goddamned time, sick of always being on the outside looking in at the warm, live, strong, normal people who have no idea how good they have it because they can’t even imagine being like me, sick of freezing in the dark, sick of my own mental masturbation that never really gets me anywhere, sick of constantly victimizing myself out of both lack of knowing how to stop and fear of where all that anger will go if I do, sick of having nothing I can truly call my own, sick of feeling like I am never doing what I am supposed to be doing (oh yeah, that’s back), sick of feeling like a massive failure at life, sick of being stuck being me, and sick of wishing a dozen times a day that I could just start over wuith what I know now.

I promise I will do a much better job of it this time!

Sometimes, I feel so lost and confused that I want to cry out for my mommy, but she’s thousands of miles away and can’t help me anyhow.

She couldn’t help me even when I was the right age for crying out for your mother. Once she went back to work, it was just easier to concentrate on the three children she actually wanted, and leave me to largely fend for myself and do my best not to remind people that I existed, let alone had actual needs.

Needs are for people who are worth something.

I was to be grateful they let me stay.

I hate that I have all this damage that I can feel quite keenly but cannot heal. Or at least, that heals so slowly that I won’t actually recover till I’ve been dead for five weeks.

I hate that said damage means I am stuck reprocessing the childhood I hated over and over again in order to extract the tiny drops of recovery I get with each pas.

I hate that just to cope with all my fucked up circuitry, I have to keep myself in a numbed stupor which lets the time slide with a frictionlessness that is positively nauseating.

How did May go by so fast? Depression, that’s how.

I hate that I know these chains that bind me are of my own devising and that they will only break when I no longer need them, and yet that does not free me at all.

I hate that I can feel just how wrong I have turned out. I feel the difference between me and others like a tongue probing the cavity where a tooth once lay, and it makes me feel like I am not even a real human being and a member of the human race.

I am just a ghost of a thought of a memory of an idea, no more substantial than the shadow of smoke, and one of these days I will simply melt away.

In short, I hate absolutely everything about my stupid fucking life except my friends..

Other than that, it can all go to hell.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.