A Hellish Mindscape

Last night was the worst ever.  It is very strange when you have no control over your thoughts, when the mind just begins digging up every bad thing it has and playing it out before you.  Last night, it wasn't things I had done.  I don't think there is much there to dig up that is bad.  No, it was the things I've not done.  That isn't precisely true.  It mostly had to do with the house, which I bought, which I own, which is falling apart under my feet.  I still haven't heard from the framer my builder gym friend suggested.  Yesterday I went out to look at it.  The rotten joist is wet.  There is a leak of some kind there.  I'm starting to hallucinate the house tilting, leaning.  This is going to be a huge repair, and I can't even sell my house without having it done.  I need lots and lots of work on this old wooden house, and I don't feel up to it.  So last night, every time I closed my eyes, the horror show would begin again, and I thought the easiest way out is. . . .  I would get up and pace the floor for awhile, but it did no good.  When I would go back to bed, I would start to realize I have no one to help me through this, and I knew not only my body but my mind was going.  My hips and back and knee ached.  I couldn't control my thoughts.  

And so I dreamed of running away, of being homeless and alone without any obligations, free of all overhead. . . and it made me happy.  

Crazy, right?  That's what I think I am. . . crazy.  

I go to see the surgeon today.  I've decided that if he gives me the all clear, I will begin immediately working on the things I can around the house.  I had hired people to do it, but they just disappeared.  I don't know for sure, but I am starting to believe in voodoo.  Someone, maybe many, have put a hex on me.  

So it seems.  

My mother is not doing well, either, but she has me to deal with most of the external stuff.  How much longer I can do it, I don't know.  

And yet. . . there are things.  A hello by name from a woman who doesn't talk to me, her sister looking me dead in the eyes.  An out of the blue text from my friend in Miami.  And then, I look in the mirror and feel ashamed.  

"Look what has happened to me!"

I felt bad in the afternoon like I had gotten something, some gastro thing.  Who knows about food anymore?  I'd eaten a sandwich from Whole Foods for lunch.  I didn't have it in me to drive to my mother's house, so I called her and bailed.  I felt guilty, but I knew I couldn't do it.  I wanted a Campari.  I thought it would make my belly feel better.  It seemed to, so I had another.  I made an avocado, tomato, and garlic salad.  I had some wine.  Then I thought a whiskey would be just the thing.  

That is when I knew it was a psychological problem.  It might be both, but it was certainly mental.  The future doesn't look bright.  I don't even want to think about it.  

Today I will focus on putting one foot in front of the other.  No future beyond the next step.  

Oh, but that's enough about me.  How are you?  Why that's great.  Sounds like you're doing well.  You look good.  O.K. then.  You're going where for the summer?  Really?  That's sounds wonderful.  No, no, I am not going anywhere.  My mother, you know, and I have some things around the house to take care of.  Yea, no. . . it's all good.  Have a great trip.  When do you get back?  Oh. . . just before the school year begins.  My.  Well, give my best to everyone. . . . 

Somehow, it seems, I fucked everything up.  

Whatever.  

Whatever.

Whatever.