Well I dune messed up again, mother. It’s official. Your son is a goof.
Got up a bit before noon and got in the cab to go to therapy around 12:15. Got to therapy at around :12:40. Late, but not too late. Or so I thought.
Got there and asked the receptionist if the doc had been asking about me yet. She said no, and in fact he was not in the office yet.
Uh oh. Here comes that sinking feeling.
So I sit to wait, and the sinking feeling increases because a little voice in the back of my head is saying that my appointment was actually yesterday.
Oh sure, NOW you tell me. Where were you yesterday, when I had plenty of time and it would have been no problem to go to therapy then come home and relax?
So I asked the receptionist to call Doctor Costin, my shrink. He did not pick up. The receptionist said she didn’t think he was coming i today at all.
So ayup. It was yesterday. And he told me last time. But I forgot.
Now normally at this point, I would simply take the cab home again. But on the way in, I had noticed that it was a specacularly perfect summer day today, so after dithering about it for a little while, I decided I would walk to the bus stop four blocks away and take the bus home instead.
After all, the cringing scuttling weak voice inside me that would lead me to take the cab is exacftly the voice I am doing my best to kill.
Fuck you, pussy. I’m moving up and moving on. You are not me. I can be better.
So I walked. And it was truly gorgeous out. Skies a cloudless blue. warn golden sunshine on the lush green grass, the smell of hot pavement and singed soil bring back pleasant childhood memories of a time when an afternoon lasted forever and happiness was a lime green popsicle and a bag of penny candy.
Remember penny candy?
One small flaw in my plan : on my rush out the door, I grabbed my one long-sleeved T-shirt, and it was uncomfortably thermally efficient. Ideally I would have been wearing something breezier. But it was still very nice out.
Then I discovered that the buses that stop near my apartment don’t stop at the stop in question any more. Or if they do, it’s not listed at the stop any more. So after watching a few 410 buses go by, I got on the next one and it took me to the Skytrain stop a few blocks from here. And I walked home from there.
Standing room only on the bus, which sucked. But it wasn’t like when I was going to VFS and I couldn’t get a seat. That meant 25 minutes jammed together like sardines with no chance to sit and relieve the swelloing in my feet.
This was ten minutes tops,. and so it didn’t get anywhere near the excrutiating stage.
A couple of times during the walking portion of my journey, I sat down to rest. After all, I was in no rush any more and the weather was amazing, and I only overheat when I am moving. If I can sit still, I can adjust to anything.
Hence my love of lying on the beach despite being so prone to heat stroke. As long as I am lying still or at the very least not doing very much, and stay hydrated, I can just lie there and let the heat bake the toxins out of my skin.
Like a sauna. But with better scenery.
Well, it’s time for me to try for an afternoon nap despite the fan on my bed having died. Wish me luck.
Well, I have a few minutes before heading off to a Paragon meeting at the Hackery, so I might as well blog.
Lately, I have been re-examining the idea of take the parking brake off my writing and pretending every month is National Novel Writing Month (aka NaNoWriMo. pronounced “Nano ree mo”.) and just spending all day writing.
This idea was brought back into my mind by this video :
It’s about a fascinating fellow named Henry Darger. He spent his whole life working meni;l hospital jobs and spent all his free time writing and drawing these gradiose stories about super-perfect grils who fight evil and corruption in a great war with an evil empire, to varying success.
My theory as to the rampant nudity : to him, nudity meant purity. That’s not a new idea. Nude children have represented purity since medieval times. The image of very young and therefore not yet knowing of nudity as sin (as if they lived in Eden before the apple) children was considered especially potent.
That’s is – seriously – what all the cherubim and seraphim was all about.
At first, anyway.
As to why the random simple penises and testicles, I think the dullest answer is the most likely : he had no idea what girls had between their legs. None.
I mean, he was raised in stricti Catholicism. When would he have found out?
Anyhow, Henry’s example got me to thinking about him and his world. It didn’t matter to him that his jobs were so lowly because when the shift was over, he went back to his “real world”,. where he God AND a mighty general.
And yes, that’s definitely less than sane. Bit I can’t help but love it. I connect with it on a deep level, and truly think that there but for the grace of God and the less than total social isolation in my childhood go I.
And the idea of spending all my time creating has a certain appeal. Unlike Henry, I would show it to the world, but knowing me, I wouildn’t do it well.
Or much at all,. really.
I mean, the writing part of it is more or less what I did last November with my sprawling crazy novel. I wrote what I wanted to write. I stitched it together into a shared universe. In said universe, I could do what I want, which turned out to be writing about a gay romance between a man and a male cartoon bunny.
Seems obvious in retrospect.
And I admit, I am curious ot see what I could get out of doing a hell of a lot more writing on a psychological level. The more I write, the more of my hidden glacier of emotion gets melted and released. Writing a lot more might be the key to speeding up that process so that I might be sane before I die.
That’s the dream!
SO I will ponder some way of giving myself permission to write like a bastard every chance that I get, and hopefully. have that replace my video game addiction.
At least writing is creatively fulfilling.
And I am getting very very tired of wasting my time.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.