American Gene
Friday. So yesterday I went through every scrap of paper I have piled in various places in the apartment to find my birth certificate (which I eventually found) and turned up, in the process, a critical piece of paper I've been looking for now for over four weeks (not looking hard enough, obviously). What's with that? I don't throw things out without looking at them carefully, so I knew it was in one of three or four places. Why didn't I just sit down and go through them one by one four weeks ago and skip all this hassle? Why the avoidance?
You might think this is not a good sign to find when divining your own mental health, although I did move books about last night preparing to hang that Man Ray poster I mentioned with a reasonably clear head, so maybe these one or two positive incidents I'm able to pick out of the pile foretell change for the better. Right? Still, with all of it, with all the aching, moaning and wobbly horizons I'm thinking it's on its way out. Go figure. Just because it's made me angry? Can you accomplish stuff like this by wishing? Sake and neat shots of whiskey haven't turned the trick (through much trial and error and no lack of trying, I might add), so maybe a little mental hoppity-hop will come to the rescue.
You sure you're not self medicating at the moment with some of that sake-whiskey stuff?
No, no. This up and down blood pressure crap has me off the sauce, off the Tylenol and off the Zoloft to see if any of the one or two or three could be the culprit. One does want to catch the culprit. It's in the American gene.
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