But it’s that time of the day, so what the hell, let’s write this damn thing.

Still not quite sleeping right. Current theory is that temperature is a factor. It gets fairly cold in this apartment, at least by how my body measures it, and I think I have been in that same “cold but not really feeling it” zone that I got into when I did my tragically crappy sleep study. The zone where I am vaguely aware of feeling sort of cold, but I don’t realize that this is what is keeping me from getting any sleep.

The human body, rather intelligently, doesn’t let you fall asleep if you are cold. Unless you are so hold you have end stage hypothermia, but what are the odds of that in an urban setting?

Then again, I did have some caffeine last night, so it might be that. My relationship with the black energy is certainly complex. I drank some with supper last night because I was feeling pretty logy and was not sure I would have the energy to get the writin’ done, and I figured, well, that’s what I keep diet cola around for in the first place.

You know… consciousness management.

And it worked. I felt quite perky last night. But when it came time to sleep, I barely felt my quetiapine, and I slept shallowly and not for the usual amount of time.

And that has been it since then. I keep worrying that the hammer will fall and I will suddenly lapse into one of my super sleepy periods and lose time that way, but so far, so good.

Still working on ripping out the old bad plumbing in my brain. It is a long and dirty job suitable for Mike Rowe, but still, it feels good to be rid of it, and finally have the space upstairs to slowly but surely move myself into a more healthy and positive environment.

I have been saying for a long time that there was nothing in this brain of mind I wanted to keep. Now, I am doing something about that. But it’s tiring and tricky work.

Part of it is finally letting myself developed that “big head” that my siblings were always worried I would get. Well, they sure did a good job of that. I hated myself for decades. Mission accomplished.

But you know what? I am a pretty amazing guy. I have no reason to hate myself. I can hate my life, my circumstances, my poverty, my total lack of social status, my feeling of lack of control over my life and influence over reality… but hating myself? Whatever for?

Because I am seriously awesome. And it’s high time I learned to enjoy it. To own it. To live it. To let it buoy me up when my demons are trying to drag me down.

I will do my best not to turn into an egotistical asshole, but I think the odds of that are fairly low anyhow. I will always be a sweet guy.

I just want to be a sweet guy who doesn’t hate himself. Is that so wrong?

And it really does seem to be the case that there is no middle option. You love yourself, or you hate yourself. You can’t just remain neutral and choose not to have an opinion on yourself. That self worth register in the brain needs a value entered into it, and if it’s not a positive one, it’s a negative one, and no two ways about it.

So I feel like I have been slowly gathering things I like about myself as I brush all the excess crap out of my mind, and sweeping the good stuff into a small but vital pile, and from this pile I shall construct the shaky but somehow absurdly elegant skeleton of my self worth and sense of self.

I just have to repeat to myself : I’m good enough. I’m smart enough. And gosh darn it, people like me.

In fact, I am smart as hell. I just lack focus. Time to get my poop in a group.

Or not. Whatever. Another part of this whole retrofitting of my consciousness is an outright rejection of the sort of overwrought, over-taut internal pressures that have ruled my life until now. If I am to do something, it will be out of a calm, clean, clear desire to do it, not because my hysterical panic factory happens to be making me jump to the left instead of the right that day.

And as I increase inner mastery, I hope to be able to use that self-control to ignore my fears as well. Go sell crazy somewhere else, you nasty little internal demons. I am more than you can handle now. You are Lilliputians fighting my Brobdingnag. You do not stand a chance.

Even right now, I feel that the bulk of many of my fears is gone, and all that is left of them are monuments to where they once stood, and tape lines marking their former boundaries.

For now, the tape lines are enough. I still do not know how to live without those fears, and my cautious and hesitant nature keeps me from just throwing myself into the void with a scream and a shout.

But I am moving, albeit slowly. The slow moving viscous fluid of my being is slowly and painfully flowing into a new configuration, feeling its way in the dark as it goes.

Maybe this is all leading to some profound transformation. I think I am capable of transformation, especially if I learn to trust my intuition more.

Or maybe it is simple a matter of a slow and steady drip of substance from one container to the other. No big surprises, just one day, there is more in the new place than the old, and the balance shifts.

And after the tipping point is reached, gravity will be on my side for once.

How do I get out of this gravity well, anyhow?