The weather channel shows the belly of the state in bright red; I for one am wearing bells. I want to have one of those crazy stories where the storm sucks away everything but me and the bathtub.
It was an act of charity on my part that sparked this change in my disposition. Every week I drive for a non-profit organization that provides soggy hospital food for senior citizens and the disabled of the community. My grandmother did it until she died so I took her place.
She would NOT be proud that I took a piss once in someone's yard.
Nobody was home.
It was out in the b.f.e.
Gimme a break.
Today was not my usual route, I was actually called in to drive as a substitute, which means i got completely lost and the people were good and pissed by the time I got there with the cold (soggy) food.
The Tuesday drive exceeded my usual once a week, I considered this to be especially honorable.. I wa feeling pretty darn good about myself, and not so bad about driving like a jackass because I had no clue where I was going.
Perhaps my fantasy would come true...the one about getting pulled over by a policeman for making a U-turn, then making him feel like an asshole because I am a cute girl doing volunteer work.
It started to sprinkle as I left the hospital parking lot, fumbling with the map as I drove with one knee. I argued with myself about whether or not I wanted it to pour.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Saturday, April 21, 2007
G is for Golyadkin
Eureka! My mind can do most amazing things! I will never be alone again. Only, I thought, did these things exist in the DSM-IV. I never actually thought that people experienced them. Several nights ago I was taken aback by a foreign but strangely intriguing voice, it sounded not unlike my own. I began to feel short of breath and mildly nauseous as I allowed myself to listen. Slowly it spoke to me, but not as another person would. This voice had a clear message, but spoke in a language that only I could understand. It sounded different because I was hearing it not with my ears, but with my mind. The voice came from inside.
It was too late to call anyone, and I was so afraid that I ran to the other side of my apartment to sleep in my roommate's bed. She had no idea why, I told her I was really drunk and kinda freaked out, urging her to go back to sleep. I wasn't really drunk, nor was I just kinda freaked out. My mind was actually switching consciously from one person to the next. I could physically feel the change inside my head, morphing from one point of view to one completely different. It felt like I was crossing my eyes, though I don't know how to do so. After a few minutes my sanity seemed to be restored and I returned to my wobbly, uninviting bed. It smelled of tanning lotion and old sex, I realized that it had been weeks since the sheets were changed. I peeled them from the bed and lay between two comforters, staring at the royal purple fresca that spanned the entire west wall. Slowly the nausea set in again, souring my gut like bad fish. My head once again felt cumbersome. Though I tried to fight it, I became increasingly suspicious of Dionysus, gazing down at me from the wall. I felt guilty that the fresca didn't adorn a picture of Jesus instead. The voice returned and informed me that the fresca was in fact possessed, that it poisoned my dreams at night and that I must take it down.
I then did what I always do when I catch myself in an alarming thought, I reached for a notebook and ink pen.
The change began to happen in intervals so predictable and so frequent that I could write to myself, in different penmanship for that matter. After writing one sentence, I could wait a few minutes and read it again, and it was as if I was seeing it for the first time. I played with this idea for awhile, asking myself questions.
This reminded me of something I had read years before. Like the Golyadkin in Dostoevsky's novel. Golyadkin Sr. felt sick and lightheaded every time the double came near. He didn't even like the double but lets him take control at times anyway. Golyadkin Jr. was better in social settings, so suave and likable-but physically identical to Golyadkin Sr. in every way.
There must be an upside to having multiple persons inside one's thoughts. The way I see it, everyone has them; however it must be that some people's are simply more audible than others'. How beneficial could it possibly be if these voices were to speak all at once in form of what they call a conscience? For most people, the voices of reason and recklessness confuse physical action. Why not rejoice in the fact that mine are polite enough to take turns?
It was too late to call anyone, and I was so afraid that I ran to the other side of my apartment to sleep in my roommate's bed. She had no idea why, I told her I was really drunk and kinda freaked out, urging her to go back to sleep. I wasn't really drunk, nor was I just kinda freaked out. My mind was actually switching consciously from one person to the next. I could physically feel the change inside my head, morphing from one point of view to one completely different. It felt like I was crossing my eyes, though I don't know how to do so. After a few minutes my sanity seemed to be restored and I returned to my wobbly, uninviting bed. It smelled of tanning lotion and old sex, I realized that it had been weeks since the sheets were changed. I peeled them from the bed and lay between two comforters, staring at the royal purple fresca that spanned the entire west wall. Slowly the nausea set in again, souring my gut like bad fish. My head once again felt cumbersome. Though I tried to fight it, I became increasingly suspicious of Dionysus, gazing down at me from the wall. I felt guilty that the fresca didn't adorn a picture of Jesus instead. The voice returned and informed me that the fresca was in fact possessed, that it poisoned my dreams at night and that I must take it down.
I then did what I always do when I catch myself in an alarming thought, I reached for a notebook and ink pen.
The change began to happen in intervals so predictable and so frequent that I could write to myself, in different penmanship for that matter. After writing one sentence, I could wait a few minutes and read it again, and it was as if I was seeing it for the first time. I played with this idea for awhile, asking myself questions.
This reminded me of something I had read years before. Like the Golyadkin in Dostoevsky's novel. Golyadkin Sr. felt sick and lightheaded every time the double came near. He didn't even like the double but lets him take control at times anyway. Golyadkin Jr. was better in social settings, so suave and likable-but physically identical to Golyadkin Sr. in every way.
There must be an upside to having multiple persons inside one's thoughts. The way I see it, everyone has them; however it must be that some people's are simply more audible than others'. How beneficial could it possibly be if these voices were to speak all at once in form of what they call a conscience? For most people, the voices of reason and recklessness confuse physical action. Why not rejoice in the fact that mine are polite enough to take turns?
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