Not quite what I expected.

Shortly after posting the previous entry, my mood dropped like a rock. I sensed it rising and I knew I couldn’t just sit idly and let it defeat me. I got up and left this computer without warning and went to my room and try to document the feeling.

My pace quickens. It’s like two hazy black hands reaching over me, cripling my ability to think. Like everything I’ve done is for nothing, and everything I’m doing is getting me nowhere.

Steward’s root beer.

Taco Bell? Could.

Wanting to break down and cry. This feels like a relapse, and I don’t like it.

Anxiety attack? Panic attack? Apathy attack? Attack of something. I knew if I went for a walk I could try to fight it.

I took the long way around the pond across the way. Oh. You think I’ll drive to Taco Bell? I’m not wasting gas to go an entire block. Clear of traffic, I started arguing with myself. Just saying shit out loud to see what will happen. Not repressing it, letting it out so I could fight it.

Feelings of inadequacy and such. Self-esteem issues remain. I asked myself why I’m a good person. I noticed I hesitated to say anything that could possibly have a counterpoint. Something as simple as “I’m a nice person” gets shot out by a voice in the dark giving a counterexample of a time I wasn’t so nice. Ah, my old friend. I teased him into the light and shot him down with self-affirmations. Affirmation of my self-worth, and affirmation of my current objectives. A programming degree isn’t entirely worthless – maybe I’ll go be one of those on-site tech support people. I don’t believe that requires too much education. Few people can diagnose computers like I can.

And maybe I won’t go straight to a four-year school. Maybe I’ll get a job and move out. Live.

Maybe.

Demons prostrated for the moment, I considered what I was thinking about last night. A new topic for a story. I considered fictionalizing my demon. Could make for some great material. Though, that wouldn’t exactly be the most cheery of material. I like funny stuff. I like making people laugh, and more importantly, I like making myself laugh.

I closed in on Taco Bell. If Poptart lived near me, I would have called her and told her to meet me there. *smiles*

I cocked my head when I noticed the lobby was closed. And I haven’t the balls to walk through the drive-through.

“Hmm. Well, I’m not going home without food.”

*munches on a jalapeno burger*

So, I went to White Castle. The cashier was a girl by the name of Natasha, who had an accent similar to a Natasha I worked with. Maybe. Or maybe I’m imagining things. She asked what language my shirt was. I’m wearing a flaming orange Pearl Jam shirt. It says “Pearl Jam” and “Berlin” below it. In the middle is the picture of a guy with a gas mask. Guess it caught her off guard.

And I’d swear she was checking me out, or maybe that was just my imagination, too.

On my way back, completing the circle around this little area, I went into yet another dimly let non-sidewalked spot. I stepped on what I thought was ground, slid on some rocks, and landed on my ass. I stood up and noticed the burger I was eating was unscathed. It was like something straight out of a commercial. I have a wee cut on my right hand, and some scrapping on my right arm that hardly requires much attention. I laughed and ate the burger.

There was a time when a crave case was more expensive than a tank of gas. A burger from McDonalds cost more than a gallon of gas. Today, three double cheeseburgers from McDonalds cost less than a gallon of gas. There’s something seriously wrong with that.

…McDonalds makes me nauseous. I love it, but I can’t eat it anymore. YET. I love White Castle. White Castle is good to me. *purrs* …We’ll see how I feel in the morning. *laughs* Yes, I’m well aware of The White Castle Effect.

I’m so glad I got eight burgers, instead of just six. Mmm. *munches on his last two as he feels his belly get full*

I think that’s all. I love.