Had a somewhat strained dinner with Richard last night. I felt like I was being
analyzed – something about our conversation was so stilted. He was asking very
introspective questions about my life and where I was at and all the jazz and
it just seemed very inappropriate to be that direct and up front. I finally
bit back and said that I felt totally on the spot and like we were having some
sort of adversarial conversation. He answered that I was giving him shallow
answers and that our conversation had no real meat to it so he thought he’d
dig for it. I just don’t understand that at all. That is not fun. That is not
a good time. That is not satisfying fo rme. Just because I don’t discuss these
deep pressing concerns with him doesn’t mean I don’t discuss this with my other,
closer, longer-term friendships. Or maybe I don’t want to discuss them at all.
Maybe I’m climbing out of my own hole lately and I don’t know which end is up.
Maybe it’s none of his goddamned business. At the same time, it was striking
that he considers our friendship important enough to be that direct in communication.
Pissed me off, though. I told him I felt like he had the DSM-IV next
to him at the table (he’s a therapist). What does a satisfying relationship
look like to you? Where do you see yourself in a couple years? Can I just
have a frigging hamburger and shoot the shit? I hem, haw, obsess and express
over these issues all the time – can I just take a break from it?
I am pretty anti-social and dis-interested lately. Misanthropic. I don’t want
to be friendly or pretend to be friendly to all the niceties that I know I should
do. I’m seriously pissed off about the state of this world and the shithole
administration that is driving thousands to their deaths built upon a foundation
of lies and war profiteering. I feel no desire at all to do anything theatrical
or creative – it seems so damned pointless and like a waste of time and then
when I ask myself what would be worthwhile – I don’t know what the answer to
that is. Maybe I’m just vamping until the Zoloft kicks back in. Everything seems
absolutely pointless right now. I’m not really having a big party to celebrate
my birthday on Friday – I just don’t care this year. I don’t feel like going
through all the motions of dragging everybody together and having a dinner and
inviting everybody and all the planning and stuff – I know my friends love me
and appreciate me and I just saw a bunch of them last week at Alan’s party.
I would rather have one on one dinners throughout the month so I can really
have a conversation. I feel like Ron and I are drifting lately – maybe it’s
my depression – maybe it’s his.
I’m really missing sunshine. And space. I feel like my third eye is cloudy.
I want to take a cloth and just rub it on my forehead and feel like I’m clearing
it up – this blockage I feel in my frontal lobe. I am tired of carpet. I feel
like I’m walking on filth no matter how much I vaccuum. I miss hardwood floors
where it might have been dusty but I felt cleaner. The goddamned silverfish
are back now that it is warming up. These bastards are huge too – like an inch
and a half long. I keep a phonebook in both rooms to kill them at any given