sick

I've got a little black book with my poems in.
Got a bag with a toothbrush and a comb in.
When I'm a good dog, they sometimes throw me a bone in.

I got elastic bands keepin my shoes on.
Got those swollen hand blues.
Got thirteen channels of shit on the T.V. to choose from.
I've got electric light.
And I've got second sight.
And amazing powers of observation.
And that is how I know
When I try to get through
On the telephone to you
There'll be nobody home.


I'm sitting here thinking about how I want a cherry Hostess fruit pie. I love those things. They're in the kitchen. However, I'm out of milk, and I can't eat one without milk.

I've suspected for some time now that I'm not as smart as I used to be. Much like a computer, my brain always had all sorts of processes running in the background, collecting and analyzing data, solving problems. It was good at solving problems.

But, also like a computer, sometimes I had too many of these processes going, and they'd start to hog resources; when you have dozens of programs running on your machine, and then try to start Word, or do some other day-to-day thing, the whole system freezes. Some application is stuck in an infinite loop. Crash.

It's a problem when you've always valued your mind over everything else, and then it turns into the enemy.

Now the medication has put that part of my brain to sleep. For the first time I can remember, there aren't a thousand thoughts running through my mind, screaming for my attention. There's no danger of one thought running in a loop, over and over again. My mind is quiet.

The silence scares the hell out of me.

But I guess that's the point, the silence. Now I'm able to function, more or less, rather than get trapped in my own mind for most of the day. I guess it's worth the sacrifice. I'm still smarter than the average bear.

Now if I could just get out of the house.