Don Mann: Focusing on my Craft

Saturday, Jan. 31, 2004 - 2:38 a.m.

Once again I'm here, staring at my cold grey walls, thinking about how free I really am, concerned about how bitter the taste of imprisonment can be...

I used the think I could feel an invisible pull on my spirit, some soul calling out to me...those times are gone.

Time is crippling me.

A minute here, a second there, asking for some, wishing I could give up a little, wasting some more, time is the constant of my life which seems to never remain constant.

I believe there are levels of sobriety and drunkenness, and if this is true I am more sober in these last few days than I have ever been in my life. All except for last night, perhaps. Strange how sometimes the mind can be just as focused when dulled by drugs.

Some certain events which have unfolded in the last few days have brought my vision cascading into a terrible cut-scene, a vision of piercing reality which crumbled all of my walls of security and has destroyed my self-confidence.

I think I half-assedly attempted to kill myself last night, because my sober self was telling me to do so and my dulled but even more focused self was set upon it. While sober I took 10 codeine pills and a half bottle of niquil, chased with about 5 shots of vodka.

While I was suffering the burden of these factors I must have taken maybe 8 or 9 more codeine pills, and all I remember is waking up four times through the night, and blacking out repeatedly. I remember cold sweats, and burning eyes. I also remember laying on my wrist wrong, because it felt sprained in the morning.

Here's the four times I remember waking up.

The first time, I was on my basement floor, and as my eyes opened I saw my weapon pointed at my face, barrel and grip black as night against a background of grey and blur I'm guessing I was playing with it during the haze.

The second time I was in the kitchen, my arms wrapped around a leg of the table, the refrigerator door open wide casting a soothing glow over my otherwise pitch black kitchen.

The third time is hazy, I think I was back in the basement.

The last time was early this morning, light burned my eyes and I heard a knocking sound. I quickly realized I was in the upstair bathroom, a small pool of vomit near me on the floor and a larger amount in the toilet. It was Tom who was at the door, I guess he needed his morning shower. I quickly wiped up the mess and flushed the toilet, then crept out of the bathroom. Surprisingly, when I opened the door, no one was there. I crawled into bed and passed out until 2pm.

...and that's how my day began.

The rest of the day was slow and boring. Nothing happened. As a matter of fact, it's not even worth the time you'll spend reading that paragraph.

To top it all off I'm lonely again. How pathetic is that. This whole storm of bullshit flying my way and all I can think about is how badly I need to be loved...

I filled out one of those lame ass matchmaker services recently. You can find it at www.tickle.com. My username on there is AngstForNothing.

Heal me, I'm fucking heartsick.

I wonder what the term for "male spinster" is in this wondrous english language we have here. Perhaps I'm best off using the term "hermit". Yes, I'm a hermit. I sit in my basement and do my hermetic duties of maintaining absolute solitude like some kind of total fucking loser. I think it's time I got a job, or maybe two.

I wish someone would give me an obligation.

Oh yeah, that reminds me...Happy birthday Jesse. maybe next year I'll call you instead of staring at my wall all day.

The same to everyone else. If you want to come see the human freak show, I'm gonna be here all weekend and into next week. It's not like I'm some kind of elusive creature.

{[-someone.buy.me.some.fucking.alcohol.-]}

Delve Into The Past - Onward Into The Future