It is getting downright arid around here. Mister Sandman, please stop already!

But I know why sleep has been kicking my ass today. As always, it’s the caffeine.

I had a liter of Diet Coke with my snack last night. I also took 2 Quetiapine. Result : was not sleepy right away, but once that caff wore off, it was Zonk City, USA for me.

I am really glad I did not go with my idea to take a third pill with breakfast, otherwise I probably would not have woken up until it was time to do tomorrow’s column.

I shudder to think of how low my blood sugar would be then.

So, not a lot to report about today. I know I had some intense and messed up dreams, but none are currently clinging to my consciousness looking to get out.

I know that at one point, I was competing to get a box of chocolates out of a bag with a black bear cub in a Santa hat.

I know. Whad dee fug, huh? Well that is how dreams go. They are beyond weird.

I mean, I dreamed I was on vacation with Mitt Romney and his family. And he kept wanting us to do dorky things like play board games, and he was trying so hard to make sure everyone had his idea of wholesome family fun, but all I could think about was how I do not belong with these people and how I would much rather be doing something cool.

And I mean, where the heck did that come from? I loathe Mitt Romney and his ilk. But I guess he comes across as so whitebread normal that he was cast in that role in my psychodrama. He was Mister Normal in my brain experiment in normal life.

And it obviously was not the real Mitty, because we were definitely not rocking a billionaire lifestyle. More like a successful small businessman lifestyle. I am pretty sure Mittens and his brood do not end up playing board games in a cheap cabin at some low end tourist trap resort.

If they did, maybe they would grasp something about people outside their little world.

I did get one thing done today, sort of. I called to get a doctor’s appointment, something I have been forgetting to do all month. I need my doctor to fill out of a shortish form for my disability review, and if I do not get said form in soon, I might have delays in this month’s check.

And seeing as I was supposed to get said form in before the first of the month, I am beginning to get a little bit on the worried side.

And the thing is, I called to get the appointment, but I did not get it. The receptions said she did not know if Doctor Chao was working on Thursday, which is when I want the appointment so I can go right after my therapy session and save Joe from having to make two trips on separate days.

This was an entirely unexpected response from her, and so I froze up for a bit, and she said she will know if I called back tomorrow morning, so I said I would do that.

So now I have to remember to do it all again tomorrow. And I have a feeling she will just say “Nope, he’s not working Thursday”, in which case I could have just made the appointment today. Bummer.

And that is irritating. Social anxiety makes the phone a bit of a tricky thing anyhow. It is hard for me to pick up the phone and call someone out of the blue. I always feel like I am interrupting them and irritating them and that they would rather not hear from me, even when it is a simple and functional phone call like calling to make an appointment.

And so, now I have to work up the nerve all over again tomorrow, and the results will likely be negative and even futile. Sigh.

Life sure sucks at the bottom of a major depression.

Getting close to the end of xxxholic. Netflix has 24 episodes and the next one I watch will be episode 22. That is the problem with these neatly 22 minute shows, it is just too darn easy to go through them fast at one or two per meal.

And I will really miss the show when I have watched it all. It is funny and charming and very wise. The way that Yuko deals with people’s problems appeals to me greatly. She goes right to the heart of the problem with the skill and power of a surgeon. People who come to her shop will get the help they need, and they will get it fast.

Whether or not they can handle it, that is another story. It is up to them. This is not the gentle cure. This is the swift, sure, and deep cure. This is someone asking you the questions you are afraid to ask yourself, and confronting you with the truths you hide from yourself with lies that make you miserable and keep you trapped.

This appeals to me enormously. Honestly, I wish she was my therapist. I am pushing 40 and I do not have time for a long and meandering cure. I want the truth of my condition. I want all my illusions shattered. I want to get the hell over myself as soon as possible, and I do not give a good godly damn how much it hurts. Pain is transitory. Growth is permanent.

And I want so badly to grow, it hurts. Hurts worse than any revelation might hurt, to be honest.

So go ahead, shatter my prison, break my shell, cleanse my wounds. Straighten me, ’cause I’m ready. Fuck everything that came before this. I am willing to do whatever it takes to be free.

Willing? Hell, I am downright eager.

And the truth is, I can’t do it on my own.

So where is Yuko when I need her?