Amnesiac

No, not this one, my own. I can't remember putting together the previous post, much less the sentiments contained therein. And yet there they are, not lacking in feeling or directness. I'll admit, they could be the product of alcohol (and cocaine, which I had the displeasure of reaquainting myself with)-induced anxiety but they're more likely a verbalization of feelings I hesitate to ponder with any great depth. Because the futility of doing so, overwhelms me everytime.

I'm miserable. And the reason is that for five years, I planned an assault on establishing myself here in the US, focusing my entire energy on integrating and acquiring my US citizenship, that I a) Made no plans for the post-invasion phase (much like another invasion currently in swing) and b) lost a sense of who I am and what I'm about.

I've also been alone, which isn't the most accurate guage for what goes on in your own brain. Too much love may indeed kill you, but too much solitude will drive you off your motherfucking rocker.

And I'm stressed by going home. My mother called yesterday, as I was on my way to the party, and proceeded to spread her unique brand of guilt, despair and counter-productive negativity about my state of affairs, my short and long-term future and my immortal soul, which I'm being assured, will spend an eternity in a very unpleasant place. The mistake that I made was I called her back when I got home and while I can't remember the details of the conversation, I can remember that I cursed at her repeatedly and reiterated my position that her involvement in my life would never exceed periodic FYIs accompanied by as many meaningless pleasantries as is needed to make my time spent in her presence, pass by quicker.

It may surprise many of you who read this (ok, all three) that I leave a lot of stuff unsaid, simply because saying it makes it real and forces me to deal with it. Things like I wish I didn't have a mother or I find it hard to believe in anything anymore including religion, friendship, happy endings (aside from the ones you get in select massage parlours) and, really, the very idea of life. Why should I? God won't reveal the point of all this, friends mean well but ultimately only offer a small portion of their lives to yours, happy endings and the meaning of life...well, life ends with death and happiness is something that I've heard a lot about but don't actually remember experiencing for a sustained period of time.

Funny how cheery this post is turning out to be, when I started it out as a foil to the despondency of last night's entry. All roads lead to Rome, in this case the conclusion that I feel lower than a Dutch ditch. True, it could be the usual post-coke slump but I think if it hadn't been that, the reality of my own pointless existence would have subbed in. Call me crazy, but I'll take the drugs everytime.