I dunno, man. This whole world is FUBAR.

It’s exhausting. And the exhaustion doesn’t go away with sleep. It gets worse every day I take on more words, listen more, say less, drag myself up one more time and try with all my might to shift that weight. Only to have the boulder I pushed up a hill roll back over me, and Pandora’s jar overflow with the sick and misery of humans who used my ears and mind like a porta-potty for dumping. Where is all this waste in me supposed to go? I’m so tired. And I stink to high heaven so it’s not likely anyone’s going to approach anymore. Someone would have to REALLY care, and generally that only happens when they’re up to no good. No goodniks. Anyone remember Rocky & Bullwinkle? I’m really alone.

I don’t want to be like them. Stupidity is catching.

In my breakdown.

So I induced this word vomit and I’m taking it easy on my brain.

I’m singin’ to this Tigger under my desk, and it may be drunken and off key but it’s better than bitching about shit I can’t change. Anyway he don’t care. Fuzzmuffin. He don’t judge.

Anything is possible except skiing through a revolving door. And anyone can make any choice at any time. Now I need to repair a slippah and watch Russian Doll… again.

Brain dump. Angry.

Processing a lot, using every available coping resource to face yet another day of being locked in the dark behind my eyes and struggling to make a connection from behind walls preinstalled neurologically and also self-built in response to invaders and colonisers. Yo ho, yo ho, Doctor Sacks. Rest in peace, ‘cause there ain’t none here.

I forget the words. Often. LOUDLY. Silently. Often. Who will listen to silences and hear what’s unsaid? Sounds like a job for Oliver Sacks… nope, he’s quite dead. Not pining for the fjords: dead-dead.