it's 11:09 on saturday night. everyone is sleeping (which would be raf, and cha cha), and I'm sitting here trying to figure out what to do with my life. I went off my wellbutrin for a week, and it all came back. I mean, not like I don't ponder life and stuff, am I living up to my full potential, what have you - pushing myself to do more, pulling back, learning, going through flare-ups of excitement and bands or pictures or what have you - but there's generally not a lot of panic.
we now have officially reached panic.
I spent some time in the grocery store this evening. there's so much going on there, it's easy to hide. a lot of lights and ruckus and people doing things in between doing other things, and I just slipped into my own world. walking slowly, forgetting things, doubling back, putting together some good salad stuff, chicken, mascara, I need that, no I don't, okay get out of the cosmetics section - so I just got to like, be there. alone, and just - well, there.
I walked by this older man with an empty cart, and he had one thing of some kind of meat, with an on-sale sticker on it, and I was just blown away by the sight of him - all of a sudden, I'm in his head, and his world, and I'm terrified for him - he's poor and can't even afford his medication and he's got to just get a few things that are on sale and he's alone and I'm going to get old and what if I don't have any social security or anything and I'm shuffling around, looking at people with their full carts, going, if they only knew...
but that's not the panic part. the panic just kind of sets in, when I think about stuff. I mean, the grocery store was good overall, and the part with the older man just kind of passed by, even though it really struck me. I liked the quiet mind and the purposeful meandering of it all. but I'm driving down my street, and it's just all the same street, and I've been here before, and am I supposed to be somewhere else - when I've been getting nothing but affirmations that I'm right where I'm supposed to be, and my teacher is perfect, and class is perfect, and the job at koffee? is perfect, and it's all right, and I'm in a healthy relationship, and meetings are fine, and - so why the discontent?
I went back on the wellbutrin this morning. and even in typing this, I want to throw the pills out the window, because I don't know what's coming from where, and I just want to embrace my madness like they used to and just let it eat me and I'd go nuts and do whatever real crazy people do. because it feels like I've tried so much that hasn't worked - even though I thought things were just working - I lived someone else's life, and that didn't work. I got all jacked up about bands, but that only works sometimes, and the bands themselves and the songs leave a mark, so I like that part, but just doing the band thing - it's like my life is about someone else's thing, and it's not my thing. so, all by itself, that doesn't work. so I gave up on that, and I gave up on being a hippie, and I still like bands but it doesn't run my life, and I still like pictures but it doesn't run my life, and I write, and I have to write, so that's what it is, and I don't quite know what to do with or about any of that.
I don't have any secret places. all of a sudden, it's not just work - home - meeting, it's work sometimes and koffee? sometimes and class sometimes and homework sometimes and cooking spanish food sometimes and I like it much, much better this way. but I can't help but feel like something is missing. the little things I do that catch me on fire. I'm even nervous thinking about going to see the wrens on saturday.
what the fuck is wrong with me?
television is crack, by the way. so is food. so is spending money, it's just all crack. it's crack-time, all the time. I hate it.