Situation Normal. Atmosphere Breathable. Brainstem Injected. Dialogue Engaged.
Monday, December 09, 2002

Prescription Introspection

Subtract: four packs of cigarettes, two eighteens of beer, four half-price sandwiches, twenty-five dollars worth of gasoline, twenty dollars worth of: frozen pizzas, grapefruit juice, one small wheel of gouda cheese, and spiced apple cider, and the remaining $255 is my weekend profit. Few drugs and poor sleep later, I'm back at the 9-5 with baby kangaroos under my eyes and a miniscule gloss of sweat highlighting my hairline, induced by coffee. (8-5 actually, but Dolly's phrase has more ring)

I'm in a good mood today, and I'm glad that I don't know why. While such things are best left unexamined, I'm going to thinktype about moods nonetheless.

I'm a reckless pharmacist. Objectively I can see that I have mood swings, but I dislike the idea of psychotherapy and medication for something that I believe is part of the human condition. If I'm going to seek false relief from reality, I don't want a perpetual subversion of my emotional peaks and valleys. I think that prozac etc. would dull me and change me into somebody else. While I might be more comfortable and happy, I would also be duller and less introspective. All sharp edges sanded down. Whitewashed. It simply would not do for everything to be easy. Was it Plato who said that "the unexamined life is not worth living?" I choose instead to have moments of relief, and this is where alcohol and other assorted illegal sundries have their place. They are a temporary escape, and they remind you of this every morning after. I can see and feel the price of my wombing, whereas a prescription would just be flicking my switch to Off.

Rereading that, it's not as lucid and concise as I would like, but it'll serve. In one sentence:

It all boils down to awareness.

The roomie has been away for one week, with one week to go. The apartment is corrupt with filth and scum. He left a sink full of his rotting dishes, and I've amassed a formidable array of empty bottles on the countertop. Tonight, if I'm not lured by football and cocaine, I will wash the dishes, mop the floor, vacuum the carpet, and pine-sol the bathroom. I dread performing these tasks suddenly, but when I plan them ahead and succeed with completing them on schedule, I feel very self-satisfied and content.

A sudden simple realization: when I'm happy I think about food, and when I'm not I think about money or companionship. I'm hungry.
11:54 AM - Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm


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