A hearty good un-evening to all you special people out there in ocular reception land, and welcome to this vibration’s edition of Live From Inside The Caldera! As you can see, it’s hotter than Satan’s nutsack in here tonight, and our guest of honor, poor MJB’s brain, is just about ready for another basting with sewer water and recycled sweat, so we are in for a heck of a luau on the lanai tonight!
As always, this show is brought to by the sarcastically benevolent people at Sneip’s Specialty Sputum. Remember folks, if it’s not from Sneip’s…. it’s just not sputum!
And we have a heck of a show for you tonight folks, and I am not just saying that because the voices in my head tell me to do so! Not this time, no siree! Tonight, we have the kidney palpating jungle beats of Maximum Hootenanny, the hilarious grunting of comedian Professor Not Quite Enough Bleach, and a visit from our old friends, The People Who Touched It Before You Knew What It Was!
So sit back, relax, insert the included device in your orifice of preference, turn your major mood indicator to “unbridled joygasm”, send your kids out for medical indulgences, and enjoy tonight’s spine-jangling episode of Live From Inside The Caldera!
And remember, no matter what happens, MJB’s brain will continue to roast in its own foul juices, producing hilariously muddled hallucinatory dream states for us all to mock and enjoy, so stay tuned to this cosmic eventuality as required by law!
Enough of that for now. Sometimes, I just have to let some of the weirdness out of my brain to make room for the new stuff.
I meant, that’s what leads to this sort of thing.
That’s why my response, from way before I ever saw the Lion King, to people saying to me “you’re so weird!” had been “You have no idea. ”
The odd things I do an say are but the tip of the obstruse and dodecaherent iceberg, kiddies.
Today has been long and hard, even though I spent most of it asleep. Frequent readers of this blog will be rewarded with a palace in Heaven familiar with how that can be for me. Yes, I have had one of my “sleepy days”, and it’s been a mother of a lulu of one to boot.
All day, I have done nothing but sleep the sleep of the tortured mystic, full of dreams more intense than reality (thankfully), except my dreams are not symbol-laden spiritual journeys full of beatific visitations and wrestling matches with snake-devouring eagles, but rather, just the humdrum meanderings through hotels in search of lost footwear of a post-mystical INTJ like myself.
That doesn’t make it any easier on the mind and soul, however. I still awake from these surprisingly dull and low key dreams drenched in sweat and completely incoherent, barely able to even remember who I am, let alone where, when, or what. It gives me the distinct feeling of being very thoroughly wrung out, or perhaps, of having undergone some excremental existential emesis, a profound puking of the soul to purge built up spiritual toxins and leave me tabula rasa for the time being.
These episodes are one of the most profound reasons why I wish I could live in a luxury hotel. Just being able to wake up from one of these episodes and just phone front desk for a complete change of bedding would do me a world of good.
It’s bad enough to have your brain put through the wringer all the time without having to go back to sleep on sheets still soaked with your sweat from the previous round of damage.
The mere prospect of being able to just order some room service (lately, I also wake up hungry as well as dehydrated), eat it while they change the bedding, then have a quick shower before going back to sleep in cool, crisp, clean linen fills me with a sensual delight verging on a childlike eroticism.
Someday, perhaps. Some day. At the very least, it would be nice to have enough sets of bedding that I could do the laundering and changing myself. Perhaps I should start asking for that for Xmas and birthdays. It would be worth the extra cost for laundry.
I wonder if my dreams would be different?
Other than the usual brain broiling, life goes on as per usual, sad to say. Tomorrow night is the monthly BCSFA meeting, so I am working hard on gearing myself up to be social and willingly go into a situation where there will be at least one person I don’t know.
Last month, I didn’t make it, and I regretted it. But I just could not summon the wherewithal to overcome my social aversion in order to attend.
This despite the fact that this is a perfectly acceptable social gathering, or at least it should be. It’s in a known place, I will know most of the people there, it is a group of intellectually curious nerds, which is as close of a milieu as a lone sheep like myself has, and there is even free food.
So really, it’s a low hurdle to jump at best, and yet, social anxiety is social phobia, and phobias are by their very nature unreasonable. They operate below reason, down deep in our animal programming, and thus they can be dealt with, but negotiation and reason are not going to cut it.
Still, no matter what, I plan on going this month. I have been giving in to the illness too much, and I have to start pushing back if I hope to make any progress.
It’s seductively easy to just let the anxiety and depression rule me, and just keep going on like I have always been going on, while the years of my life rush past.
But that’s for people who are happy with their lives, and I am not.
Something has to change. Or one of these days I will just walk away, take a bus to a new place, and start my life all over again.
I would rather it didn’t come to that, though.