I have nothing but time on my hands.  Loads of free time.  I should be using it to write.  I have a creative mind mixed with racing thoughts that should be churning out short stories and pages upon pages of a novel.  Instead it is driving me to distraction.  I find myself constantly doing anything but.  I will watch crappy movies or play video games.  My room is a mess but I refuse to clean it even though it is driving me crazy.  I actually really hate messes and filth.  I prefer a tidy organized and clean space.  Yet here I am in a tossed and filthy room doing anything I can to distract myself from doing anything of value.  I am wasting my life.  I have limitless untapped potential.  I have no doubts that I am a literary genius, capable of writing the next great American novel and here I am farting around on Facebook and watching porn.  I don’t even update my blog anymore.  My meds have been adjusted yet again and I don’t even know that they are making a difference anymore.

On another note, I have been recommended for psychotherapy and I am awaiting a reply from the therapist (not sure which one yet, but there are two options and both are very good, if one doesn’t work out I will be moved to the other).  I have very high hopes for this because from what I understand I will not be handled by a clock watcher or a moralizer.  I do not need my mental care crammed into a time frame nor my bizarre behaviour judged by a religious zealot (the exact opposite in my mind of legitimate psychological care).  I would like to finally have legitimate ongoing mental health care from someone that I connect with.  Other than Dr. Saint that is.  He isn’t a therapist, he is a PEZ dispenser.  A way overqualified and really cool one.

I feel at present like I could be the subject of a Ramones song.  Sitting around in my underwear on psych meds in single room accommodations that are filthy eating mini-ravioli from the can.  Quite the picture huh?  Actually, that is almost the perfect Ramones song… Too bad they are dead.  That’s another thing.  We now live in a world without the Ramones.  Makes me sad a little.  I grew up a punk kid.  It kind of put me in a strange place beyond what I later discovered to be my disorder.  You see I was always intelligent and well spoken.  But I was an urchin.  A gutter rat.  My family is working middle class all the way.  We had a nice house, alas that was about all.  Not much has changed except that the house is long gone and nobody has managed to replace it so we have moved down on the social ladder.  The Grey family are prolific white trash breeders, scattered to all the corners of the map and smearing our DNA over all the other races.  I have cousins of every colour.  I feel rather fortunate in that regard actually.  Here I am, the best and brightest of the bunch, eldest male bearing the name of my generation.  Mid-thirties, vasectomy with no children out of his first marriage going rapidly down the same road as his father’s older brother.  Family curse catching up to him.  To be fair my sister is brighter than I am, though between the two of us I am more inclined to write a best-seller.  Also, she has wed and not passed on the family name.

I feel like a male version of the ladies from “Grey Gardens”.  Just another way in which my chosen moniker suits me I suppose.  A forgotten relic of something great.  Swept under the rug.  Intentionally not thought of for the painful memories associated with it.  ‘Oh no, let’s not think on him, I can’t bear to remember all that potential gone to waste.  He was so vivacious and he threw it all away.  I don’t like thinking about the time when we all abandoned him, it makes me feel guilty.’  I imagine that the people who I once knew have consciences, which in fact they do not.  You know, now that I think about it I can’t even remember when exactly my friends gave up on me.  You would think that there would be some event.  Something that I had done to them, something bad.  Alas, no.  Most of them just stopped supporting me.  I still supported them.  I went to their shows.  I bought their CD’s.  I spread their art and shouted their causes.  I helped them out.  I listened and gave advice.  Then silence.  Almost every relationship that I have ever had has been extremely one sided.  I don’t know why I put up with it.  I think from this day going forward I am going to make it very clear up-front that my relationships benefit me and fuck you.  I expect to be alone and not make too many friends, which is fine.  I think that this has been my goal lately anyway.

I’m sure I have much more to say but staying focused has been difficult lately and as you can see for yourself above I am parsing topics so I am just going to leave it here.  Dr. Saint upped my dosages.  I slept with a high school sweetheart from my past and it was a tad more awkward than I wanted it to be.  My sister visited for her birthday.  I’ve attempted several dates and none were exceptional but I met one recently that I have my fingers crossed for… We meet again tomorrow.  I just hope my manic ass doesn’t mess it up.
Anyway, I hope that I can manage to update more frequently.



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