Dreams all weekend of Michigan.

When I'm really really really deep scary under....like coma under, thats where my mind goes - or, I guess, thats where I go in my mind. And everything's the same. There's my dog, wagging her fluffy brown tail, as if anything would be any different. The living room furniture - arranged in that same L shape in front of those three arched mirrors that were glued to the wall. I think the new owners took those down. They probably had to scrape the shit off with gloves on and like full body suits to avoid the glass shards. Those things had been up there forever. Probably took half the wall with them.

My house now is pretty modest. Minimal wall art and furniture. I like it that way. I'm really just squatting here. Its a great place. It never felt like home though, until my parents started coming to visit. They added something. My friends come and visit - thats the great part of having a house. Space. Quiet.  My next house will be less domestic. Motivation is complex, and I know that part of the reason I bought this house was because it was 'the next thing to do.'

A note now about living undercover. Nobody from work has the link to this journal (at least not that I know of). I don't have a facebook. I don't use my real name online. I guess I thought it was to keep people from getting in but really I think its to keep myself out. A certain amount of mental distance is healthy. I have a plan. Like always. And a great plan, a truly brilliant plan - is not something you reveal altogether. Like any complex work you spin it together, slowly, and don't let the shocking parts of it loose before its complete.

Almost, now..........I'm almost there.
If I can just get these ducks lined up....

On being 30...and sick.

How did this happen?

For Christ's sakes you grew up listening to Eddie Vedder and Ani Difranco.

Its not so much of a breakdown launch, more of a simple examination of fact; this isn't really who you are. You gave up eating meat because McDonald's disgusted you. Learned to play the guitar because the piano wasn't portable. Dyed your hair every different color. The 90s was awesome.

But this story ends here, because regret is a waste.

Prevention, however, is a different story.

So is medication.

30 isn't really that old anyway.