Marathon

Sometime soon I think I will fall over or faint and just pass out for days. This “weekend”, I fell out of bed, literally and yesterday I stubbed my toe trying to get up off the couch. I tried, to little avail, to bring my home environment into some sort of “control” so that I could feel safe.

Thinking about work is keeping me up. I am lucky to have a job at all. Of course, things are vastly better in Northern California than anywhere else on the planet, but still, when Alex gets laid off, wow.

And then there is Teagan, who I want to desperately to be somewhere good, if not with me, then somewhere where he is loved and cherished.

And I really, really need new glasses and to get my hair done. It’s making me crazy.

Everything else besides those 4 things is inconsequential.

Liz says I over analyze everything.

I’m still playing the world according to Melissa, brought to you by unverified statistical analysis.

If I really was in the top 2%, intellectually speaking, in high school, why do I feel like a retard and have almost no grasp of language? How fucking stupid must everyone else be? And why are they not drowning in shitstorm right now?

Oh, and then the failure red light and sirens come on.

I don’t give a flying fuck anymore, at all!

Everything is utterly surreal and I’m so exhausted, all the time, for reasons unknown and incomprehensible to me. I am surrounded by insanity. There are not enough vitamins or water or time to heal me. I feel like I need to spend many hours a day sweating it out in a sauna or sweat lodge, napping, drinking gallons of water to get back in balance. I’m sick of falling off and getting back on. But there is no way to do it the right way and so I have to do it the retard way because it must be done, there is nothing to do but do it. Survival is all. Survival.

Anything beyond this moment, whether it is beautiful or not, is unknown, unknowable, incomprehensible. This moment is the essence of WOBBLE. A violent and unrelenting wobble and I don’t even want anymore than shear survival.

Where AM I? When AM I? And how did I get here? But then I have de j’ai vu and figure that I must supposed to be here, at least for now, even if I have no fucking idea where I am going or how the hell I got to be where I am.

But I can barely breathe. I can barely walk. I can barely talk. But I can, barely.

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