(raw snowman material)
I'm beginning to think that most of my troubles come from having time off from work. I wasn't working Monday or Tuesday and virtually all of the confusion and unrest from this week seems to emanate from those two supposedly harmless days. I am, perhaps, a danger to myself. If not an outright danger then possibly just an unavoidable nuisance. To be fair though... I was snowed in both days, somewhat. It was either snowing or too cold to go out and do much of anything. So idle time is perhaps the real culprit. I spend too much time in front of my computer, the devil's amphitheater.
I am tiring of my diet/detox. Other than one day where I experienced a headache I haven't had many results, positive or otherwise. Not that I expected the skies to split open and for there to be daily high-speed jet-pack monkey fights, but a few minor miracles would have been nice. I would have liked food to taste better, but no, the opposite has been true. Fruits and vegetables are wonderful and I have always enjoyed them, but beyond that my diet is about as sexy as commuting on the subway is. Remove dairy from your diet and suddenly things taste flat and uninspired. I know that if I give myself more time then the taste of things will improve, as my palate adjusts, but I'm not willing to do that. Next Wednesday is Day 10, and I will act accordingly.... I am planning an all day bacchanalian feast. I've had a vomit chamber installed in my apartment in preparation. When in New York, do as The Romans do...
I fear that gorging myself on food and wine, and then purging it at regular intervals in the special chamber I've had constructed from porcelain and stainless steel, will not bring me the happiness I urgently desire. There are so few things to bring one happiness after years of doing well-made, expensive designer drugs. I crave the simple things in life.... money, and then more money.
I had a woman comment on yesterday's posting. She suggested that she would perhaps live vicariously through my detox. I didn't know how to tell her than I would not encourage anybody to replicate, whether through imitation, magic or contagion, my attempts at normalcy and balance. Most people have a difficult time even trying to talk to me, much less be a friend. I have immense sympathy for anybody that has ever tried to love me. But the one thing that I have always insisted on is that nobody try to echo my behavior. It is the short and rocky road to the vomit chamber.
I think of this simple one-eyed immobile snowman, with his uneven twig arms, and horizontalist smile, and I wonder...
... what happened to his nose?
(sideclops, frozen cocaine addict)
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