Hyper Diseased College Princess Whores

No, this entry isn’t about any of my ex-girlfriends. In fact, title phrase stolen from VenusDiablo for no other reason than because it sounds awesome and makes a much better entry title than "My Life Blows and I’m Pretty Sure I’m Going Insane".

So anyways, about that…

Had a weird period of recent time. (Side note, for those who don’t yet get me, I have literally zero concept of time. I used to accidentally say "the other day" about things that actually happened a year ago, or "back in the day" only to be told I was referring to something from last week, so now anything that happened prior to yesterday is just generically referred to as "recently" or "forever ago" or something equally ambiguous. Don’t even try to get any more sense out of me than that. Okay, WAY too much digression, time to close parenthesis and complete this paragraph!) I’ve always been an odd creature, but lately I’m pretty sure I’m cracking up in a fairly not cool way. I mean, there’s quirky, and then there’s freaky nutcase. I preferred quirky.

A few days ago (I think, heh) I woke up to a really strange sound. It was the sound of myself bursting into tears and crying my guts out. Turns out I’d just woken up from a dream in which I held my maternal grandfather’s hand as he died in bed, of old age or related problems. Now, not TOO weird for your average person who’d had a grandfather die, or even for one who is close to a grandfather and would be upset if they died. Me, I’ve never had any grandfathers – both of my parents’ fathers died long before I was born. I never knew either of them, and don’t really know much OF either of them either. So the dream grandfather was a fictional creation of my subconscious. Yet when he died, I cried so hard I woke myself up. Can you say with me, "what the fuck?!?".

The other day, I was watching an episode of Dexter, which was recommended to me recently by an old colleague of mine. I knew next to nothing about it when I started watching it, but 30 seconds into the pilot I recognized Michael C. Hall‘s voice as the lead character (without actually seeing him on screen at that point) and knew I’d love it. Six Feet Under is one of the best TV shows in the history of the world. Digressing way too much again…

Anyhow, maybe three quarters of the way through the second or third episode, I pause it and get up to take a piss. While urinating, I casually ponder what I might look like with one of those metrosexual deliberately maintained five o’clock shadows that make today’s otherwise pale, weak, modern men look almost slightly rugged and manly in a sensitive yet passionate way. Anyhow, with hardly any conscious thought or intent, I proceeded to shave off all my facial hair – beard, mustache, sideburns, everything. Took me about an hour, first with my hair clippers and then my electric razor. Almost immediately afterwards, I wanted it all back. I didn’t want to undo shaving it off, I just wanted to grow it back straight away. It felt good to shave it, but not good to be without it.

So, by next Tuesday or so, I should have the five o’clock shadow I was aiming for, and hopefully within a week or two, I’ll almost have a smaller version of my beard back. Lucky I don’t socialize. I look quite literally ten years younger and twenty pounds heavier without it. I’ll probably never shave again. I look like the goofy fat kid from one of those B-grade cheap slapstick comedies where they have actors in their mid-20s playing teenagers in the film.

My best friend and I have discovered that about the most fun thing we can think of to do of a weekend is to throw small plastic balls at oneanother. He has a huge garbage bag full of them at his house, and the last two times I’ve socialized at all, we’ve gone to his house and thrown them at eachother a lot. Sometimes he pitches them to me and I hit them with a stick or a metal bar or a sword or whatever’s handy. Sometimes we just try to hit eachother with them. Sometimes we just go nuts and randomly kick or throw them all everywhere. I am almost 30, and this is how I spend my Friday nights.

I’ve decided I’m emotionally addicted to the concept of drinking alcohol. Since 2003 (as I’ve mentioned), I can’t get drunk, or even tipsy anymore, for some random unexplained reason, and yet given the choice, I still buy booze over any other beverage when I can. Right now, I have in my fridge several cans of Sunkist, and several cans of premixed Black Douglas & Cola, and even though I know the Sunkist will taste better and the Black Douglas won’t even give me so much as a mild buzz, I still just cracked open the alcoholic beverage instead of the orange soda. I just think I’m subconsciously insisting on drinking even though my body won’t let me enjoy it on any level.

I’ve also recently concluded that for me, tinnitus would be a fatal condition. Recently, I dozed off earlier in the evening than I’d normally go to bed – several hours earlier, actually. Around about midnight, I woke up to a strange noise – almost like fingernails, or maybe hail, tapping on the roof of a car, half a block away, with a echo and reverb effect applied, but just barely audible. My ADHD and OCD went into total spastic overdrive as I obsessed over finding the origin of this sound for about an hour. I stalked around my freezing cold house in the dark, in my boxer shorts, from room to room, ear cocked, desperately trying to locate the source of this mysterious sound that I could only sporadically hear. Oh, I should note, I have absolutely supersonic hearing normally, and pride myself on it. But I couldn’t find the origin of this damned sound for the life of me, and it really freaked me out. In the end, I locked myself in my room, crawled back into bed, and watched a dozen episodes of M*A*S*H back-to-back before trying to sleep again. I haven’t heard the noise since then, but I’m convinced that I ever developed tinnitus and started hearing phantom noises on a regular basis, I would drive an ice pick through my ear into my brain and die.

I’ve just recently discovered and downloaded the song "Georgia On My Mind", by Ray Charles. The song gives me goosebumps and makes me feel like crying, and this solely because it was the song playing during the Quantum Leap finalé episode, as I mentioned in my survey thing recently. I think it’s odd that I could watch, like, footage of little children getting shot in the face or something, and not flinch, but then really random things not meant to evoke any serious emotion from anybody will choke me up.

Next Monday, I have a bunch of appointments. I have a doctor/GP appointment at 2:00PM, a dentist appointment at 3:00PM, and an appointment witha psychologist at 4:00PM. I have no real concrete reason for any of them, but more than ample vague generalized reasons that I should be seeing all three. However, I’m not really sure what I’m going to say/do/ask at any of these three specific appointments. Though maybe for my four o’clock slot, a print-out of this OD entry would be a good place to start… =P

I saw Nine Inch Nails play the other night. First time I’ve set foot in a nightclub in many years. Some pale shaggy fuckass with dreadlocks and shitty clothing threw up on me through his fingers as he ran past me. I thought about breaking his jaw, but I was too messed up on oxycodone and diazepam to react quickly enough. I actually turned to a cute little androgynous emo girl standing just behind me to my right, and said "Well, that just made my night!", and trundled off to the men’s room to wash up a bit.

Like grains of very insane sand through an unstable lunatic hourglass, these are the days of my life…