AKA sluggish, which is how I feel right now.
Just woke up, so I am feeling all bleh. The usual kind of post nap bleh : kinda dizzy, although nowhere near as bad as my attacks of “dizziness upon rising”.
Funny how bad experiences can change how you see things.
However I can still say this : it still felt like I didn’t so much sit in this chair as I was thrown into it by centripetal force.
And I feel tired and disoriented and sore, like I just barely made it to shore after a long night on rough seas after a shipwreck.
Yeah, I know I say that every time I talk about this subject. But I can’t think of a better metaphor for this feeling.
So sue me.
As a result of all this nonsense, I am having a certain amount of difficulty staying focused on the screen and making the words come out.
I would rather be sprawled out on my bed waiting for the room to stop spinning.
But I gotta get my words out first. Otherwise there will be no living with myself.
Watched an episode of Cheers with my friends last night. Man, is it good to see that show after all these years. Still one of the best shows ever made.
And it was an early season episode, so Coach was still there. And he is without a doubt one of the most lovable characters ever.
Seeing that show today is like visiting a dear old friend.
More after the break.
Inside and out
It occurs to me that most people don’t have the kind of rich , chaotic, and unstable inner life that I do.
Probably because they have actual, normal lives that take up far too much of their mental bandwidth than mine does.
I have unintentionally devoted my entire life to stimulating and developing my imagination and vision.
That’s what constantly gorging myself on media has done for and to me.
I have a vast and complex inner world that most people could not even begin to comprehend, and I have honed my inner vision to crystal clarity.
This allows me to imagine whole worlds and deep plotlines and entire conversations in a flash and they are entertaining and touching and good AND internally consistent.
See, makers of sci fi shows? It CAN be done. You just have to put in the work.
But all this inner power comes at a terrible cost. As implied earlier, it comes at the cost of my being an isolated mental freak whose fantastic powers amount to nothing but a bitter joke because I can’t actually do anything real with them.
I can’t even write stuff and try to get it published or at least looked at.
Why? Because mental illness has locked me away in a coffin of fear and buried me alive under all this filth and decay and bodily horror.
Like, my life is fuckin’ Cronenbergian, man.
This inner world of mine is a prison inside a labyrinth inside a dungeon inside a tomb,
Why can’t I have gifts that AREN’T also curses?
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.