Friday, January 31, 2003

most elements of anxiety disorder completely subside when keeping up with life's tasks. this fact will never be reiterated enough. there is no reason to avoid or actually be scared "to go out and check the mail" if DAILY LIFE has been managed.

nothing is looming.
irrational thoughts lack that which they can attach and thrive.

it is boring to live without a dysfunctional level of worry-- this calm is strange. the alternate stare down with time is somewhat sick. now that i am not restricted to the house, i find myself thinking about what to do with the day rather than setting up the racing thoughts. i might not necessarily engage in these plans, but i am neither avoiding nor stuck in prison.

i fly to london gatwick again soon and the only concern is deciding whether or not to search for an apartment to lease. it will feel like a wasted trip if i don't at least try out something new. if i do lease, or even buy, it will feel egotistical or overindulgent-- as though i am greedily allowed to contemplate another year of life before finishing the foundation and goals of this first year.


the temperature touched an unexpectedly oppressive 92'F in los angeles today. due to a combination of cold ocean currents and its latitude, southern california experiences a mediterranean climate, and is not classified as a desert, dry tropical climate. who, if living in a chaparral biome can then understand an air conditioning bill in january? i clicked the dial and just somewhat shook my head. considering our climate model, we should be entering the expectant season of cool rain.

it's been a long time since i lived in an icebox land where mercury thermometers can break, but the phrase 'january weather' always leaves a sentiment of -40'F with me.


Thursday, January 30, 2003

the worst news has just arrived by the postal carrier: my landlord has forwarded the lease renewal paperwork, and it does not include the expected $50 monthly increase in rent. he has instead slightly lowered the rate.

why?!
- i take care of the place, i guess.
- i never, ever call him.
- as a renter, i never disturb any of the owners in the building.
- i make and pay for the minor maintenance issues.

the problem is how it is cheapest to remain living in this condo unit. i somewhat want to move, but have a difficult time allowing myself to 'have' this. moving and paying a higher rent for no reason other than my own comfort is an unnecessary expense. i do not want to pay for a 'want' which i could go without.

four weeks from now, where will i be living? i doubt i will be able to counter the 'want v. need' argument by then and take delivery of the freedom. the eventual decision will undoubtedly be made based on price.

five weeks from now i don't even know if life will even be a focus. even though anxieties have been reduced, i find myself continuing to skirt that daring suicidal edge.

i don't know.

after rearranging this apartment to see if it could function as an office workplace, or both a home and an office, it appears it may be too small. stay or go, this decision is not the big deal i make it out to be, but i really can't justify the expense of a two bedroom home up in the hills.


Wednesday, January 29, 2003

i set out a collection of unwanted valentine's day candy out on a table in the laundry room and nobody has taken it yet. well, pardon me, it wasn't see's or fancy candies by any means, but people seem to take anything that isn't nailed down. [...and also steal that which seems unnecessary to secure. a thief recently helped him or herself to our homeowners association's huge weatherproof bulletin board which was screwed into an outdoor wall.]

aside from the valentine's day candy (pink and red-themed nerds rope, reese's hearts, chalky conversational hearts...) people perpetually bring me such crap.

invalid friend might have only spent a dollar, but he decided to use it to buy me a neon green colored alligator-shaped sipping cup-- seriously. its tail functions as an integrated straw and the atrocity has that distinctly offensive smell of new oil-based plastic. after the outgassing process eliminates the scent, one fills the cup with a beverage, and then sips out of its tail. it could take an eternity for this cup to lose its 'new car smell.'

consider: exchanging perspective from 'fears of toxicity' or 'sick building syndrome' to 'inhalants' and 'the pleasurable psychoactive effects of glue sniffing.'

consider: or not.

this cup is obviously for kids, but it makes one appear that they are sucking alligator ass. it would be impossible for an adult to drink out of it without laughing.


side effects of zoloft: bad nausea and i have yet to put the equivalent of one entire pill into my body. food arguments, usually lost on purpose over the last few years since it's always easier to just cave in to people's wishes and throw up later rather than have a six hour scream-a-thon... but not now. i could argue my side of "not eating" for hours, and will. the problem is that this is only the third day of medicine and ambivalence has already set in regarding disordered eating.


Tuesday, January 28, 2003

2003 los angeles marathon entry fees = $70
am i seriously too cheap to pay an organization to let me torture myself?
if so, perhaps my self-hatred is fraudulent?


i am glad to record details of daily life on this blog rather than supply an adapted account. i'd be apt to leave out the little things- little terrors which make the truth stranger than fiction.

[skip ahead]

a crying persian woman who was wearing a fuchsia muumuu and spoke little english, was standing in my only-halfway-cleaned probably vomit-reeking bathroom this afternoon. when she requested the use of the bath scale, it brought every embarrassing detail of life and condo into crystal clear focus.

maybe it was the zoloft, because i was out in the common area doing the first half of laundry. bath towels, clothes, even the bed sheets were ripped from the mattress. quilts and blankets saw soap. i have been on a business spending spree and living space is filled with cardboard boxes, multi-track recorders, amps, and coiled cords. it is quite the disaster. the vacuum is out and rugs are thrown in the corner. vibrant paintings of stick figures, fish, my experimental watercolor in superflat, and comic book figures are spread out over newspaper on a side table. i'm not planning to vacuum or paint today- everything just happens to be out. the first half of laundry? yes, it will be tossed in a chair after it dries for chuck to fold and put away. what i am illustrating is that my place is a disaster and not meant to be seen.

i went to pick the laundry up out of the dryer and a lady followed behind me into the common area. slightly terrified that she would ask me for change for the washing machines (she's done this before) i sort of froze. not that i mind giving up quarters, but they are all stashed in the safe, and if this lady stood in the entryway of my apartment she would see where it was hidden. when put on the spot like that i tend to forget how to decline or that it is even possible to say no. the lady did not ask for change, rather she wanted a bandage for her foot. it took three or four tries- i thought she wanted "hara en over a banhaaai her choose dono eyehbetes or no?" she simply had a sore on her foot and needed some bandages. okay, no problem. [gasp, is the bathroom a mess? no i wiped it down recently but have not scrubbed it very good.] i went to retrieve my only bandages for her (badtz maru, hello kitty character printed adhesives), but she followed me into the bathroom while talking incoherently and pointed to the bath scales.

yeah, go ahead.
... but before weighing, she needed a pen.
sure.
... and she needed me to write down the weight.
okay.
... and what is my name?
tristan.
... christian?
tristan.
... kristin?
trissss-tan.
... what?
tristan.
... trisTIN?
NO triSTAHN, call me 'stan. you don't understand. never mind.
... and where was my husband?
out.
... and all of my men just come and go?
uh, yeah we say it differently like "he goes back and forth to work."
... and her husband has head problems.
sure, i know all about that.
... and he got shot yesterday.
oh those kind of head problems!
... on van nuys boulevard in sherman oaks.
what? i drove there yesterday. what am i saying?
... and she has no family in the usa.
... and she wants a hug.
okay.
... and she wants this hug to last two uncomfortable minutes.
okay.
... and needs my bottle of dasani water.
okay.
... and doesn't want the bandages but will take the neosporin.
okay.
... and good bye for now.
bye.

i was very embarrassed about the state of this place but don't think anyone is coming back in for a long time. after retrieving the rest of the laundry, a dime was found in the dryer, the pile of clothes landed on a chair for chuck, and i paced until anxiety subsided.


Monday, January 27, 2003

merely one day later, after having metabolized .000000000223921 micrograms of zoloft, i have not only secured a new place to live, but bags of desperately needed household supplies. lightweight. definitely. might this confirm the reality of my body size without actively stepping on a bathroom scale?

lately, the ocd checking rituals and the 'i must step on every crack or something bad will happen' type of urges have increased in frequency, but i only noticed that they occurred once or twice today.

on another note related to (undesired) elevated mood, there is no compulsion to dismember and then cook annoying people in an enormous calphalon cauldron-- or at least a lot less.

much less.

i mean, consider, a hard anodized pot and a blubbery human.
this seems like a lot of unnecessary heft for a simple stew.


i woke up and made up a list of potential rentals that take pets... mapped them... considered them... had someone else call them... found a few...and decided on one. figure that! it's only noon. the last time i did this it took me over six months to find a place to rent and back then i had :incompetent: help. the only problem with being able is what the heck am i supposed to do with all of this time?


Sunday, January 26, 2003

[aarrgghh]
- reduced sex drive.
- anorgasmia
there are some significant side effects stemming from zoloft.
"on zoloft."
it's been what? two hours?


ocd behaviors are beginning to flourish and interfere with daily life. what was once a simple effort in typing, now is a process of performance. keystrokes have additional steps-- not only are they extra, but specific. ocd is also messing with the pace of steps i take while walking. it is unclear if the subsequent trichotillomania [in this case 'eyelash pulling,' an impulse control disorder] relates more toward ocd or anxiety, but as a ritual, it pretty much goes unnoticed. it's the aftermath which is sparse, annoying, highly noticeably, and defeating.

over the last few months, i have occasionally considered trying to take a medicine, but have been concerned with allergic reactions and side effects. in the past, i have not tolerated any prescription antidepressants for longer than a two week trial.

another concern is whether or not a trace of the antidepressant medicine may show up or interfere with a federal employment drug screening. they will require drug testing. does it even matter if the lab locates an antidepressant? perhaps there is a concealed code in regard to antidepressants and other psychiatric medications relating to the job, as in 'a positive result for any psychoactive drug is grounds for automatically disqualification.' then again, might i be accelerating an unnecessary paranoia? this is a sought after, lucrative position, and i actually want nothing to interfere with signing on to the job.

it has been five years since an honest attempt with a prescription. i tried over the counter kava kava supplements but the effect was something similar to being three quarters of the way asleep-- somewhat aware, yet unable or unwilling to rouse enough to get up. for the most part, except for a short time on zoloft, antidepressants have offered immediate, horrible experiences.

in reflection, revealing the side effects could supplement a comedy script to this blog: growling, nostril-flaring anger, forced deep breathing while desperately trying to restrict violent intentions, nightmares, "daymares", trying to speak through clenched teeth... there were situations where friends stayed home from work due to sudden suicidality and the unsure behavior i exhibited. out of rage, i knocked my boyfriend down with my car while trying out a tricyclic antidepressant called amitriptyline, and also experienced nightmares bad enough to remain awake for a week while on that pill. for many weeks after abandoning the medicine (and the idea that a general practitioner should have authority to prescribe these pills), i would experience night terrors and wake up ecstatic to merely live in an abusive situation.

there was a lame attempt with two or three different tricyclics. these were prescribed before ssri antidepressants became the predominant choice. my general practitioner thought to 'cure' anorexia by supplying me with medicine which made me ravenously hungry. of course, he never suggested the pills would cause this reaction. i could never tolerate, or, people around me couldn't tolerate those pills for longer than a few days. the funny thing is, anorexia "loves" feeling hungry and the plan backfired. i always lose weight when taking medicine that increases hunger.

zoloft, on the other hand, was the tablet i once tolerated for approximately two weeks. zoloft stopped the trichotillomania immediately and starting with the morning after my first dose, i was able to make clearer decisions. all of the "garbage" which ordinarily compounds thoughts and restricts actions fell away. after a week, i noticed more hair fall than normal, and an itchy rash, and so my physician gave me a sample of paxil.

within three days, paxil brought on what should have been an emergency room visit, but i suffered through the terror at home with family. the paxil was discontinued immediately. it is not recommended to abandon an ssri, rather it is suggested a patient slowly titrate the dose down to nothing. the suicidality experienced during the withdrawal was hell.

needless to say, i fear the violence brought on by tricyclic antidepressants, and the suicidality which is revealed when taking an ssri preparation.

since the most positive experience of all points to zoloft, tonight i took a quarter of an expired pill. the bottle is dated 1/26/02. that's very odd--the date. my doctor had prescribed it in case i ever wanted to try it again.

i remember observing the workers at the kaiser permanente pharmacy were milling about in confusion over my presentation of the prescription. the physician's directions stated to take one quarter of the smallest available pill, and this incidental dose led the pharmacist to believe this prescription was meant for my child. perhaps it had been inadvertently written out in my name? the other prescription i supplied to the technician was for a large dose of a controlled substance-- xanax, a benzodiazepine. unfortunately, the xanax offers me a paradoxical reaction consisting of increased agitation and anxiety rather than fun. into the cookie jar it went to sit next to the collection of zoloft.

i experienced an allergic reaction after testing out tom's of maine toothpaste this morning. other sensitive people with celiac disease who post to a 'gluten free living' forum suggested it worked for them without incident. who is to guess what the offending ingredient or excipient is now? my gums are on fire which makes it feel like my teeth are loose enough to fall out of my mouth (but they are not loose at all). hopefully my face will swell up as to mentally keep them in place. now it's become one of those days i don't want to do anything but sit around and scratch my arms and jawline.

there are drunk people falling into the pool so the annual airing of the superbowl must be over-- time to slam the windows shut. it was 90'F today.


damn everything- i'm doomed to be successful again.
(no i don't want to be! people will look at me!)
[pound! pound!]
damn it all- everything is going to work out.
(no, no, stop it quick.)
[slam! slam!]
i'm scared to death.
[bang! bang! bang! bang! bang!]


apartment hunting in los angeles: i can live in somehow more hell than now for more rent per month or similar hell in a crummier location for even more money. one room. one window. i'm not going to find anything great unless i go out and find a posted vacancy notice rather than looking in advertisements.

i am incredibly bored.

note: i want a two bedroom in the hills and it's going to cost a fortune but i know myself enough that i will spend three weeks searching for a small diamond in the dirt everywhere else and then with only two days to spare decide on the two bedroom in the hills.


a partner? possibly an employee? or even a friend for that matter, and DAILY LIFE could be okay. i can't really hire someone to occasionally make a few phone calls and answer a few e-mails because it would not even constitute an hour a week of work. in about a month i need to find and rent some type of dry storage area with electricity where product can be locked up but it needs to have enough room for the packaging and distribution process. maybe i should rent out a larger place to live in instead and save money. no. "i can't do this" is becoming old hat as i am doing this. "i can't even talk to anyone" as i'm talking to everyone.


Saturday, January 25, 2003

i sit here and listen to conversations on television and talk radio about scott peterson's missing wife. the media is playing up the fact that scott is a fisherman who manages a fertilizer company and that his wife laci was/is pregnant. big search in the marina, big searches in that area of northern california- then a rally to pass out flyers eight hours south in los angeles. what? did you check under the fertilizer, they ask. maybe i'm sick but she's not under- she is fertilizer, right? lime, it dissolves a body good... or not, what do i know about that.


Friday, January 24, 2003

today may be the best feeling "worst day of my life" experienced in quite a long time.

it doesn't appear there is any need to gear up and leave the house on a daily basis anywhere in the near future. for unknown reasons, the employment i was expecting to accept has been postponed.

phenomenal luck?
or, the worst news ever?

this is good
and bad
BUT SUCH GOOD NEWS.

i was scared out of my mind to watch each calendar month flip over as the date crept closer. one must wonder, though, when experiencing the elation expressed upon hearing of this employment's postponement-- perhaps this was too much too bear. today, while simultaneously investigating stress and relief, i must question my preparation and ability.

this relief is profound, and sarcastically masked. thank god, i do not have to keep up this uncomfortable role of going and doing is what i feel. "i always get what i want," are the words distributed to the world. other nonsense has been verbally thrown around. perhaps next time, i can thwart the round-about way, and ignore that which i do not want to attend. why all the fanfare?

problem: ocd will not let facts disrupt suicidal intention. the plan was to improve my mental health enough to accept and start daily gainful employment by march. there is no free pass allowed due to the intended job's postponement. the plan will not adapt. i decided to either do or die, and act on the choice.

consider: must... thwart these ridiculous ideas of staying indoors, and get it in gear. or, at the very least, decide what to wear to the red store to buy supplies for the final act.

gas cans?
lighter?
wrench?

the dare is on.
do or die.
gotcha.
either way, the rule is: must act on "do" or "die."

a business plan was initiated this week. in the past, i could implement an idea and then make a phenomenal profit in only a few months-- but what about now? consider how the concert of self talk and reduced esteem both insist that i will never produce again, but then invalid friend brushes off all doubt with, "pfftt, very easy for you."

everything is easy to do, but only after fear has been boxed up. attending to the chore of perfect packing can take a lifetime.

this "do or die" may be rather exciting, and perhaps the only thing that has inspired a flutter of adrenaline in my system for years. i filed legal documents, made preliminary business purchases, and conversed with people online, but also want to scrub myself for thinking i have any ability. my problem only allows for philanthropy (-doesn't currently allow me to keep for myself-) so i could always donate a profit. i don't know if i can counter the 'required to give away ocd' by keeping a business in a name other than my own?

another problem: "if i follow through to any level of success, it's going to make me a very awful person. i will not hold a capacity to listen to 'normal' people say they cannot go, do, or succeed." esteem will come from this, but anorexia will try to squash it. essentially, i might become extremely sick due to the process of becoming well. perhaps i will be so stupidly overwhelmed by stress or product and i either will quit or actually have ended up making an extremely lucrative business. how would i ever establish a business which could support my ridiculous lifestyle after i learn to want again? i know i restrict because that which is available usually does not fulfill pleasure.

know i can
and know i can't
but think i will
... since i can define the blocks.


mornings before sunrise usually find me out walking. occasionally a car will pull up alongside of me and then suddenly dart away. so what's the deal? is it general knowledge that prostitutes wear sporty nike shoes, sweaty cotton, and a clip-on minidisc player?

this has been going on for a year and i have come to the conclusion that when a $160,000 mercedes nears, the driver is probably looking for a real cheap job. the nervous guys driving the 1997 toyota camrys on the other hand- i somehow imagine they would pay better.

four in the morning, on a weekday, and in the west valley, though?


never do i want people to see what i do in person- even things that don't matter like shopping at the store or pumping gasoline. i tried different variables but the feelings never go away: drive the expensive car around the city and use the trendy leather luggage then feel it is too much- don't look at what i have... use the target discount store satchel and walk to get water before sunrise and i still don't want people to notice. nobody's business maybe. stuck in coach on an airplane, i deserve more than this- i am not one of these cattle! stuck in first class- why am i here? i don't even have a job! someone else should be in this seat. whatever. this isn't going anywhere.


i would like to order some weather please.
at 5am it was too hot to run in shorts and a sweatshirt.


Thursday, January 23, 2003

anxiety: only when i wait so long to make decisions, that deadlines pass and choices can only be made for me.

i will telephone the landlord and notscott (the lease is in his name) and that will kill some anxiety- maybe all of it.

then again, why should i call either one of them? there is an available and acceptable condo unit nearby listed on westsiderentals.com for the same price. the biggest stressor related to moving is the location and its safety. it would be better for me to move (nobody would know where i lived) if only for the freedom it allows.

consider: steal the refrigerator from this place.
note: notscott's problem.

notscott told me we paid for the refrigerator upon signing the lease, but i have his original papers which note nothing of the sort. we probably were renting it and the price was included in our monthly rent.

if i take on my own lease and remain in this unit, when his lease on this place ends, he will do a walk-thru with the landlord. my property will be here and i don't want to deal with it-- but i shouldn't stack any damages to the apartment on my own lease by not letting that final walk-thru take place.

drat.

consider: call notscott to find out if he is still up to jointly signing the mortgage agreement and just buy this unit. it would only help his credit rating. i would continue to live here and pay the monthly mortgage, then after making some repairs and figuring out where to live next year, it could be rented out.

consider: flat out move. there is another available condo unit nearby priced at slightly less per month but it lacks curb appeal and a swimming pool. who would use a pool? i could forward a check to my money market account immediately in the amount saved per month, but i don't know how much money is too little to be concerned with when making decisions.

consider: a larger place in the hills for $1500 less per year but it might be too far off the beaten path for chuck and his bus pass.

consider: there is another unit nearby at the same price as here but it offers a lease to own option. the flyer states "no pets allowed" but what if i am in fact renting to own rather than choosing to just rent?

i hate how the options are clear but my brain will not shut off additional possibilities. entering into a mortgage contract with notscott is as horrific as it is lovely and i can see myself vomiting through that process. now, why shouldn't one live in the hills and also save money? rent to own? hm hmm hmm... that would be all me.


Wednesday, January 22, 2003

is it safe to assume that whoever has been knocking on my door with a key at 650p two days in a row is my landlord... or an unmedicated prior to now which makes just as much sense.


Tuesday, January 21, 2003

i need a mailbox, some stamps, and i should go to the bank. i'm stalling. this morning chuck needed a ride to work and the plan was to stop and get a business mailbox on the way... so i stalled and no one knew what was going on... and i said i didn't want to go... and disruption, yelling, and irritability started. you need the mailbox, why can't we go, and what the hell's the problem? so we go and we get there and he jumps out of the car and i sit there fiddling with the stereo. morning fm radio banter is a terrible invention. i didn't want to sit in the car and didn't want to be there but i didn't tell him and he wasn't catching on that he couldn't and shouldn't do this for me. he just thought i was being a pain. if i'm going to start something and see what i can do, then i have to go get the mailbox and drag myself to the post office and do everything. i was upset combined with he didn't know and of course i didn't know how to get out of this situation. he came back to the car with the pricelist and i figured this was my opportunity to mention that i didn't have enough money and i needed to go to the bank- that way i could return on my own. he tells me they are out of available mailboxes. ok fine. phew. now if i could just figure out how to tell people to back off and let me do things but not to go away entirely in case i need help.


how's this for rude:
i am sitting here basically waiting for a friend of a friend to die.
"did she die yet?"
dirty look.
why can't we buy the airplane tickets now and just go, rather than wait? why are we sitting here? why do i have to go? anyway, that was my whole weekend. i don't want to go to florida- everyone knows there is nothing scarier than a life-sized donald duck and my mother has the photographs to prove it. oh right, someone's dying, stop thinking about funny things. suffer. sigh. so about every ten minutes yesterday i was saying, "so did she die yet?" or "now?" or "can i wear mickey mouse ears on the plane home?" i say a friend of a friend but the first friend who isn't dying hasn't spoken to the friend who is in 10 years. do you know how far i have come if i can wear mickey mouse ears on the plane and not care?


big promises were made at the beginning of this blog and applying for plus getting hired for a regular daily job seemed to be the pinnacle of what i could achieve in one year after having been secluded and seriously ill for so long. now that the
time is passing, i am questioning why goals which were made by a rigid sick person need to be completed. the sick thoughts are still with me and they say i am a cop out and am not allowed to move the goal unless it is toward a larger goal.

REX says: you are not allowed to change your mind- keep your word.

i don't feel like working for my own pile of cash- an amassed wealth of take. the rat race isn't for me. i don't want to want, so why take? my family says that sentences like that are from people who have too much money. what i do have is calm that comes from knowing i can most likely get what i need without relying on another person. i am not going to work forever to afford myself a car and house to live in and then only use them to live near and get back to work. i will work for a house and i will live in it- not use it as a base for a job and barely spend time in it like i see from every person i know.

working for a cause would be acceptable if they could give me room and board and incidentals. i could devote my life to it, but in 30 years i may need more than a legacy of being a generous individual. someone will say i have a big heart and i will still hate that word.

i know i have a big ego plus i have more self-depreciating thoughts than others but i still do not distinguish where the line is. any form of 'i can' still feels greedy but maybe my goals aren't big enough. they feel sky-high but they don't appear hard. i can do so much more than handle a regular job thus that goal seems rather pathetic now that the year is almost gone. i'm not a worker bee and not going to be one for someone else but if i somehow pass the drug test and get the clearance to report to the job then i will go and manage it, and i'll slap my first paycheck in the face of doubt. i'll prove it to myself and then quit if i need to, but i'll only quit if i can prove that i can do better on my own and that needs to be done very soon.

i sit here and think that i don't need to go, how my bills are handled for a few years without doing anything and it isn't important financially. i could make rent and take vacations so the job doesn't seem important even though what it is really for will be reasons
i don't yet know but will only learn after going and seeing how my life has been changed by it. who knows, maybe i can work for
myself and go to that job- it can't hold me back until it interferes with what i will make for myself. i worry about getting stuck in places- i don't want to get stuck in that job and it's easy for that to happen to me.


friends don't let friends come over before 7am to hang out.
i know you're awake. great.


Monday, January 20, 2003

by not taking a pre-employment drug test, the job offer will be postponed until the end of the year. note that other than to blame it on anxiety disorder (or whatever)it makes absolutely no sense as to why i would be concerned about passing a drug test. since i am not flippant with goals or words spoken, waiting until after march to accept employment is not an option.


mm-hmm, after acknowledging this, i debated my way out of both sides of health:

there are no options aside from 'the gasoline ending.' i must remember to remove the inside door release handles and jam the lock lever before slamming the car door shut.

if i find a way to earn the equivalent of the aforementioned yearly salary before the initial starting date arrives, this could be an exception to my date with suicide.


lately, a new thought process called 'somewhere in between' has begun to crack through the black and white thinking. after commanding 'all or nothing' for an extended period of time, how can i learn to develop the middle?

... and why?
... and what for?

why not try to earn the same salary in the same amount of time?

just ignore the thought--
it sounds like leeway
leverage
cop out
backpedalling
or worse, reverse.


no.
not yet.

perhaps.

this leaves me with either taking a god awful trip to the RED STORE for gas cans or figuring out how to earn not one penny less than $1150 a day, daily, for the next 54 days.

the RED STORE option facilitates obsessive compulsive disorder: red store, red logo, red gas cans, black day, black shoes. one of the choices is remarkably easier than the other especially when you consider that i am remarkably nervy and would rather refuse to put on the black shoes to go to the red store. earning $1150 a day through self-employment sounds difficult to 10% of me-- only self-important to the rest. i could, but it would render me arrogant.

no more job applications because i have lied all i can remember and another ill-fitting touching suit will not be bought. maybe take the drug test and twist the results to read whether or not my time here is done. dare i remind myself that i have phenomenal luck? why do i continually believe i will fail a drug test? why is that thought real enough to actually get me to thwart the employment process? is it because i am scared to death, yet cannot admit it?

the absurd can be reached with seconds to spare.

do i believe that? am i just saying it? is it backwards brainwashing? could it happen? i do believe i live amongst fools and i'd be the only one with a sporting chance. i hate myself and i say i don't believe in myself but i'm certain i could set something up and have turned a profit by friday. earning, no taking, no hawking. i need to make my own job that will pay and i need to make it now but i don't know why.

baby steps- i would be nowhere.


it is officially the end of the world.


a stretchy and starting to creak life-sized slingshot pointed towards a brick building. burned interpol skipped and was frisbeed out of the oldbutnew car window onto the ventura freeway at four in the morning. one problem with owning a rockstar guitar is that i have schoolgirl hair in which i am terrified to trade for something else. i don't know how much my two PL12BONG23R records PRO-A-8662 are valued at: nothing or two twenty total. eleven years ago today i was robbed in europe en route to scandinavia. i also have a warped one. i shouldn't be scared of different strands. tired, hungry, and stupid in amsterdam. nothing has changed. what about BXSTUMM148? "will you marry me," today's text message questions but he'll ask tomorrow so it remains unanswered. it's wrapped in plastic. a happy holiday spent playing 'name that tune' with my friend online who is remarkable and perceptive at choosing based on my mood. pfft, crazy only works when it comes naturally.


Sunday, January 19, 2003

"i've been following your mind's instructions
on how to slowly sharply screw myself to death..."


i sealed my fate yesterday- accidentally?

"yes there is a screw
it's pointed at my head..."


tick!count tock!down as blind eyes hum
DAILY LIFE is disposed.
donate shoes, one leather chair
use up paints.

"lay me down
please lay me down
you can pin me up or put me down
uh uh uh uh oh now let it all go..."


the art store, if it even exists
is a certain slice of daylight hell.

"it's a horrorshow
come on round horrorshow
HORSE is brown...


an unstructured painting is drying on the back
of an enormous cardboard box
found outside, brushed off, this will do...
but you never hear about mentally ill artists
ever running out of paint and paper- why's that?

"she said 'i'll show you a picture- a picture of tomorrow
there's nothing changing, it's all sorrow.'"


labeling photographs with who and where-
NOBODY wants to know
- imagine what NOBODY says on the day i will no longer hear:
she's always been troubled. we thought she'd die in 1992. she had the world by its ass. she died from a case of bad timing. her first husband chris, well we still think he was gay. she'd want us to eat more cake.

"oh no please don't show me
i'm a swine you don't wanna know me..."


smoke, no i... slap, no i... smack, no i...well uh...
hard swallows of pills yesterday
if NOBODY's not going to like me then i am going to like me
get the house cleaned- a 75 mile-an-hour process
swallow many and fall asleep.
no mailbox anxiety of sunday: check the mail from last week.

"still I've been following your mind's instructions
on how to slowly sharply screw myself to death..."


notice to report:
employment drug and alcohol screening test:
tuesday, january 21st 2003.

"yes there is a screw
it's pointed at my head."


Saturday, January 18, 2003

the bulk mail folder associated with the e-mail account relevent to this blog contains baskets of personal messages. well, i must look like great mad jack because this spam folder is deleted occasionally without looking at its contents. now i sit here and stress out about any important e-mail gone missing and the appearance of not handling DAILY LIFE... five notes in the last 24 hours is certainly a sign i have missed something. trust no one. trust nothing.


this evening during a telephone conversation, the woman who would like to be my mother-in-law made a comment about her son's e.d. related heart problems and then added: well you two aren't getting any younger. whiz-bang-wow! how old do you have to be to hear that one? then later this evening was a complete corkscrew of emotions when i was asked out by a nineteen and then a twenty-two year old. i never know what to say in these situations aside from condescending remarks in a giddy tone: oh, but i am older than post-punk!, or so like you have a car? or what do you suggest we do- go to mcdonald's?


Friday, January 17, 2003

"training me with your see-through treasure
and bribing me with your guilty pleasure
you teach me how most things have no measure."

joseph arthur | january 16 | troubadour

apparently just snorted awake from an ssri cocktail and alcohol induced coma, joe peeled the drool-saturated pillow from his face and stumbled out onto the stage. once again, he confirmed my initial reaction: what an innovative artist, but what a glue sniffer.

notice how i never stated any dislike for him in the above comment, even though all of the lonely astronauts are apt to reverse my embrace. everyone writes the poetic review-- journalists use the word 'lucid' when referring to his performance or lyric and congest their sentiments of darkness. he's so much more important than cliche. it's simple enough, "last night in west hollywood, joseph arthur put on a great show at the troubadour." it was only the surrounding details in the venue which made time difficult to withstand.

i do not enjoy being called "honey" or "sweetie" by four foot eleven inch guitarists from unknown opening acts. i also despise, or damn near border on hate waiting in line to use a restroom, only to find out that the drunks near the front of the queue (who were also waiting) never confirmed as to whether or not the facilities were occupied.

bah!

now had i remained home, i would have neither owned an introverted space against a side wall of the venue, nor this opportunity to disdain drunk women who can erase their waxy faces.


Thursday, January 16, 2003

need to pack for my trip/ it's hard/ and easy/ i hate choices/ stress?/ pre-trip anxiety?/ this particular evening everything small seems to be a big decision/ when actually none of the decisions matter/ out of seven or eight toothbrushes/ which one would you choose to take?/ see choosing a toothbrush doesn't stand at a level which should summon a third second of attention/ perhaps the choice does matter/ who might share my hotel room and see it?/ what to take?/ a traditional white toothbrush accented in pink and green?/ a clear 'indicator' variety?/ white 'gum' with ugly light blue stripes?/ plain antibacterial black?/ a promotional garfield which is black and orange?/ a clear blue oral-b?/ a non-ergonomic designed toothbrush from poland?/ a black and blue sanrio 'badtz-maru' from puroland in tokyo?/ or a new and yet to be unwrapped toothbrush which i got free from ralphs after using a doubled coupon, currently stored under the bathroom sink?/ if i take a 'good' one, that leaves one less 'good' one for a guest to choose/ what guest?/ good question.

[sigh]

i need to find a way to start falling asleep at night.


i'm going to the craig kilborn show today. joseph arthur is performing- this is so dumb and i cannot believe that i forgot all about going to this stupid television taping. this means i can't go to bed even if i tried because i have to get up and run some water through my body so i don't look so dead. whatdayamean i hafta take a bath? no.no.no. i have cherries in my bathtub. it's going to be a long day. honey and the moon, he says he only has four minutes and it can't be done... oh try.


thair iz a lawn strate rode in tha senter uf tha sitie neer tha GAP maal and at tha ind uf tha rode iz a sownd proof waal. beehined tha waal sitz a howse.

"behind the wall sits a house." what am i supposed to do? tell the owners to move? send them a letter? tell them that i am going to commit suicide one of these days and they should perhaps find a hotel. "perhaps you shouldn't be home this day" because some psycho who claims only to be neurotic is going to inadvertently destroy your house and quite possibly your lives when her ugly oldbutnew car slams through the wall.

goodbye gladiolus
hello house fire.
dearly departed
oh my orchids.

*whistles and looks for another subject*

gasoline prices are going up, so are stocks... and rents. my rolleiflex twin lens reflex camera still lacks an appropriate lens cap. the bed is not made and there is still no need... my english skills are horrible...

pack and go.
label each box so they know.


Wednesday, January 15, 2003

i can never go anywhere because none of my clothes fit right, rather, none of them hang in the proper loose manner that will look right to me. invalid friend did my laundry in an attempt to be nice and YOU CAN'T DO THAT with an anorectic's clothes, i silently screamed in my head after finding out--

three weeks ago.
yeah, a month went by, and i didn't fix it.

the newly (possibly shrunken) clothes were not special whatsoever but invalid friend threw them in with his going to the car wash wardrobe and now, however minuscule, my clothes could be slightly wider or shorter and... what if they don't fit the same?

clothing feels different = anorexia alarm

i was planning on going out to a show tomorrow night and now think it cannot happen. how can i put those clothes on when i know they won't feel the same?

it will be dark at the venue and i will be late, having never been able to arrange an on time arrival after battling with all of anorexia's white noise-- showering, the bathroom mirror, water soaking skin, the towel touching the beast. this xxl long sleeve t-shirt could last another week. clothing stress has manufactured the familiar body phobia, and is resulting in prosaic hibernation.

now what and it never ends...

friday i need to have fantastic skin, spend superstitious dollars, and manage to board a flight, all while being personable and carrying weighty insecurities. there is a second part where i should be simultaneously trendy with a small amount of hollywood grottiness, and have the ability to look perfect... never happen... and then that third thing about regulating bitch, glee, mood, and hilarity needs to be addressed.


or not. to both.


Tuesday, January 14, 2003

i seriously need to start going to bed because i shouldn't be coming home from my daily workout before 530am. i picked up my film yesterday, and if i got some sleep now and then it might occur to me that $40.05 is too much to pay for single 4x6 photographic print processing.


Monday, January 13, 2003

viewmaster

if you're bored then you're boring:
- despising the weekend, especially the slow as sludge sunday
- never stumbling upon any engaging blogs aside for the usual few
- how posts like this never work

slept very well for once, experienced troubling lucid dreams starring:
- the generously entertaining april winchell
- cream of pickle soup (somehow related to biodynamic farming in poland)
- lisa loeb successfully fending off jerry o'connell
and oliver sacks (who, oddly enough, looked like oliver platt).


i'd love to move but i don't want to talk to anyone.

okay, i don't want to stay here because the rent is going up $100 and i need a ground floor apartment so i can use my neon pink and green jump rope, my ankle-killing yellow lemon-twist, plus i like to walk on my treadmill while doing the daily crossword puzzle. that sounds obnoxiously pre-teen, but i'm obnoxiously sporty and i hate the fact that i can't try to walk on my hands across my apartment whenever the heck i want because i'm apt to bother the resident downstairs. she should turn down her hearing aid because the other night she complained that i was typing too loud. people upstairs vacuum at 3am, i don't feel entitled to complain. the problem with a ground floor living arrangement: i would have break-in robbery anxiety, plus it would be more apt to have bugs. eew... and i would have a worse view of the should-be-covered-up that linger near the pool. bother.

if i move, i'll kick myself for not buying this place. i hate it, but it would be a smart thing to do. i was scanning the apartment ads in another city and i could get a 4 bedroom with a two-car garage for under what i am paying for this "room." that's great but i don't have that much furniture and i put my computer in the bedroom anyway which turns it instantly into a dining room. if i don't buy this place, the guy who has his name on the lease will have an enormous fee when i move out due to the damages over the amount of his deposit. [damages occurred while he lived here with me.] if i buy it, i'll swallow those damages in the course of the purchase. maybe he doesn't care. the other day on my walk i found a sledgehammer and brought it home... he'll care. [why do i write things like that? i'm not going to sledgehammer the apartment, but i do not have a problem undoing the damage that i have repaired.]

plan a: buy this place, fix it up, rent it out next year.
plan b: don't buy this place and stay, be unhappy.
plan c: don't buy this place and move. no one i know will be able to locate me. it leaves a large bill for the person named in the lease. hassle of moving, not knowing how great it is here, what if... etc... but i would have some freedom and i wouldn't be paranoid about bothering people 'downstairs' which is a big deal.

doing some reading online, i see that i could somehow qualify for a home loan on my own without a job through some program. [it isn't a scam, it's something for the disabled. *i could rant about this subject for three days.* i've had a disability insurance settlement for over 10 years- doesn't come close to covering the bills out here in california.] heck this mortgage program would have come in handy a few years back but i guess it's new. obviously it's the wrong thing to do because i'm almost fully 'able' and if i find a way to put off paying my own way i think i will. [i know i will. it is no secret that the disability settlement that i got enabled me to become even more reclusive. very very flawed system.] sigh, don't tell me i can have everything without a job because i was convinced that is what is going to do it for me... don't say not necessarily.


i spend too much time researching things before i make decisions. this is a good thing for big ticket items like cars, but i am spending too much time dicking around with finding the best web hosting service. i won't know how much web transfer i need right at the start. it's one of those great situations where i won't know what i need until i have it.


Sunday, January 12, 2003

i am coming to the end yet there is an awful lot that i have not even begun to write. i have a ghost tapping at my chest and telling me to be careful and if i think about it enough, i can feel that thump. a miserable devil always chooses my right shoulder and is pretty vocal about people making their own decisions- hideous as he may look, his breath is sweet and i like to rest my head on him. the angel is nowhere to be found... what does that mean?

i come out of my head and i talk to people but i know only lazy doublestuffs or the ridiculously successful who have made no decisions for themselves in years. lazy doublestuffs don't lift fingers, rock or row boats and therefore suggest i don't do anything that might cause myself harm or discomfort. lazy doublestuffs will remain forever stagnant in their puny lives.

a photographer i know came from the land of not much and now lives an exaggerated life. you know what you need to do, he says, whenever we argue about why, why not, fate, what for, blame, stress, and guilt. could, could not, did, did not. do. he works very hard and deserves the three big breaks he was given. he comes from a good home that couldn't afford him anything but family, so i listen to him usually, until he steers the conversation towards god's plan.

you know what you need to do.
i've been stuck right here for some time.


Saturday, January 11, 2003

is there any chance of jerry-o connell getting pelted with camel cigarettes at this afternoon's kangaroo jack film premiere?

behave? but i am being have.


Friday, January 10, 2003

black lace skirt- check.
lace up tall boots- check.
minidisc recorder microphone- check.
airplane and shuttle confirmation numbers- check.
okay, here we go again.


Thursday, January 09, 2003

so i've been crazy for a long time and therefore never get too concerned with some stuff i do because it is all just hopscotch sidewalk talk.

don't step on the crack because:
you'll break your mother's back...
you'll break your father's back...
it'll rain...
you'll kill the ants...
you'll get everything you wish for...

which is by far and away worse because my father broke his back and aside from the get-me-this and the change-the-channel routine, it was quite a time to be had by all.

open the box from right to left and you don't have to throw it up.

i don't know why, but it works somehow and it doesn't feel crazy if it has a purpose. i'm training for rampant and severe ocd camp, i guess but i'm already queen and i have finished basic ocd, what's left? oh that'll be worse in the long run but right now my emotions are confusing me so we will let it slide. i have a lot of anger obviously, but i have been waiting for it to be focused on the people who stood back and watched me fall [the person who gained 70+ lbs in four months to get me prescription diet pills... the people who brought me tens of thousands of daily calories to purge when i was housebound... the person who was too stupid to call an ambulance when i had seizures from purging and couldn't speak...] i do not have a basement but i would like to lock a few of those choice people in my basement and slowly torture them. i want to look at their eyes and say, "yep, that what it's like." anger: it's happening but that's where it needs to be. i say: i wouldn't wish this on anyone. i say: i wish them so much pain. i am crying a lot of late- like three times a day when i am comparing a situation that was to the wonderful situation that is now. i am overwhelmed.
i don't know how to do happy.
i'm not good at it yet.
whatever but it just feels totally nuts to cry when i'm feeling good.

i am wearing my marc bolan hat and glitter trousers while drying my clothes by the heat of the electric oven. yeah, don't make me go out there in my orange sweatshirt, sore throat and swollen parotids. fedex delivers a box of clothes. what kind of mood was i in when i ordered this crap? one shirt which is strangely the correct size but would need to be worn with pants- of course i have no pants that i like. one pair of little girl's underwear. uh, thanks rex- i didn't know you liked blue jeweled stars. one pair of gym pants that are so big i can fit my entire lower half in only one of the legs. a triple extra-large hooded sweatshirt which i can see is heavy enough to give me a backache. great stuff but i still have nothing to wear.


good ol' rule # 522: no diluted blogging.


everything is just falling apart.


"...throw all his trash away
look out he's here to stay
your mirror's gonna crack when he breaks into it
and you'll never, never be the same."

the diamond sea- sonic youth


Tuesday, January 07, 2003

our electrical power was going off and on earlier due to the canyon fires and the high winds and it is a little nerve racking... the wind is screeching the pool furniture around the terrace (so it sounds like someone is out there creeping around and bumping into things). tap tap tap tap... stressful noises- things crashing around outside in the dark. my car is parked under a tree, 70mph winds, insurance is paid... oh don't make me get dressed and go out there! i haven't been dressed in over a week. grumble. there is nothing wrong with the cotton clothed lifestyle if the bills are paid.


Monday, January 06, 2003

obsessed: instrumental party music from a few months back, which is probably chris spheeris but i don't know but he is my best guess. who else sounds like chris spheeris? i'm never going to find out unless i download all of the spheeris i don't have. THIS IS DRIVING ME NUTS because it's the second time this week i have some unnamed melody stuck in my head. the first, i thought for certain was frozen ghost but it was some other one hit wonder from 1986ish. sigh... hard to find much by chris spheeris online aside from what i already own plus today's mp3 downloads were clocking in at a geriatric pace of .49 k/s. (a live libertines show turned out to be some flake singing spanish ballads- boo.) this is driving me crazy because my brain certainly has more to do but now it keeps repeating caviar's 'tangerine speedo' lyrics when the first song starts to fade. i merely have a teaser version of the music i'm looking for on minidisc but it's covered with the noise of the crowd.


interpol in new york and then joseph arthur performs this week plus there are a few good shows to see in england this month and next. the regular job could start soon but right at the time my condo lease is up.
stress.
events in my life tend to all happen at the same time.

i am so sick and i am so well yet i am ungodly depressed but i know i am happier than ever. huh, what? don't be too confused just because the sun is out and it's raining because it happens.

that sounds strangely high-spirited. i'm sorry.
i took a swig of mineral water from my plastic orange cup.
i painted three canvases plus the back of my calendar orange.
did you know bed bath and beyond doesn't sell orange sheets?
i replaced my orange sweatshirt and orange tank
with identical brands and cuts in black
and stepped outside for the first time this year.

fish may equal happiness but orange is just sick.

i've been debating this 'outside' fact for a few days because i don't know if sleeping in the stairwell counts. it was not outside of my complex but it was outside of my apartment plus nobody saw me but me and the bastard i bruised.
.
.
i guess i can't complain because i had four months of decent looking feet. buy some polish and shut up... you're not exercising enough if you have all of your toenails anyway. do i? probably not tomorrow. it's one of those days or maybe it's my shoes. nope. it's one of those lives and it's all my fault. now i get to put on clothes as practice for tomorrow's day on a plane and pick up my certain-to-be-ruined push-processed film from the most expensive place on earth and if i didn't ruin the film, they will because i'm tagged and doomed. sigh, i want to see sheep on those negs.


Sunday, January 05, 2003

i have no ebay experience and no history of trying to sell myself let alone an accumulation of synthpop collectibles. i do it a little backwards: here's a dollar. take this never worn harket t-shirt and go somewhere else. boxes of bootlegged a-ha solo concerts, promo depeche mode box sets, morrissey fanzines, alas... i have no smiths stickers, but i have duran duran postcards! wanna buy a new order watch? depeche mode converse shoes? laminates from their private ultra release parties in los angeles and london? tsk, fine. it's sad when obsessions die but it's worse to think that someone actually spent a lot of money on a half-zipper depeche mode jersey pullover for me and i haven't ever worn it.


Saturday, January 04, 2003

one month ago today, i was sitting in the window of my sarajevo hotel room, gazing down at sniper's alley in bosnia. i was writing while romantically wishing for a reason for it to stop raining. a bottle of fizzy mineral water sat beside my somewhat defeated urge to care for myself.

i spent last night sleeping uncomfortably against the stucco wall in the cold outside stairwell of my condo complex, skin pinched from the rough walls, fending off miniature alligators that took big bites of me in dreams. today i am inside specifically drinking a bottle of sparkling mineral water.


1:30am i am too lazy to turn off the tv infomercial but sloth pays sometimes... because there he is... jerry-o connell doing promotion for his new movie kangaroo jack on the recycler television automobile ads. what on earth? or why on earth? he is standing next to a guy in a kangaroo suit naturally, who is too short to be his brother charlie, and talking to someone named ms. regina and her microphone about a holiday toy drive. kangaroo jack is apparently a heartfelt family film and that's why he's happy to be here talking to recycler.com! he didn't bother to explain why kangaroo jack resembles joe camel in this upcoming heartfelt family film's billboards but nobody asked. i would have, but i would have also asked him why the riders he signed for his tomcats contract are potentially better roles.

note: microphone reads "auto buys!"
note: although the film mission to mars was a disaster, it was his first seven figure paycheck and just maybe he can stop doing these dumb promotions soon.
note: unfortunately, i can't laugh myself to sleep.


Friday, January 03, 2003

one might wonder how the advertising sales department at kfi am640 has secured so many mortgage lenders "who specialize in bad credit." sick of it all, i announced three different songs to my living room lounging invalid friend and then tuned the stereo over to an alternative format.

sit 'n sleep promotional jingles advertised mattresses so darn expensive their annoying characters are compelled to sell you on their credit terms rather than a premium inventory. the world-famous kroq then proceeded to play the three songs that i named.

ha, and not only ha, but their playlist kept my order.

i love the eerie situations but try to appear not to notice. must.keep.composure. i thought how my father, acting as a very sick endurance and mindset mentor, demanded complete mental control over anything physical. i was trained not to be ticklish. control yourself, it's just hands on feet. so, it seemed, as i chewed the insides of my cheeks, that i neither noticed the songs nor surprise. did i bite my nail to mask my emotion when i heard the phrase instrument of god muttered? yes, gripping a spurting laughter is difficult task to attend.

oh jesus, and i'm not being funny.

"but i wouldn't even give you the lilac hand of menthol dan," i replied. my squeaky voice combined both owen meany and marc bolan references but, sigh, no one caught the ball.


Wednesday, January 01, 2003

allergic to tvp = maculopapular visual disaster


of course i am embarrassed because i do NOT want to write those previous nasty things about other people but this is my best effort to leave them up on the blog. no longer am i an emotionless robot but where do these emotions go and how does one deal with them? so here they are- and this is what i am dealing with now.


happy new year notscott.
i hope you get hit by a car
again
if only to save me the trouble
and are defaced you big jerk.
hell: seven.


i am packing up and going to hell (again, the sixth time this year) as i just screamed at invalid friend and told him he could take his squishy tits and get the motherfxcking hell out of my house. now since they are bigger than mine- i can say that. january first- this is a bad day to talk with people like me and you should just let us all chatter in the corner. it's the ultimate obsessive compulsive disorder holiday but this year, alas, it didn't fall on a monday or a sunday. don't let any of us see your eyes widen at our words spit out at the wall 'coz half of them we have heard somewhere else and are reciting for reaction and the other portion is just flat out mean.


it must be so lousy to have once been thin and now you spend all of your time searching for things to help you get back to where you should be. ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. i know new year's day is your nightmare. i don't know the intensity because i was well underweight even before i started my anorexia so give it a rest already- you would be thin by now if you could manage. you already have every reason possible to be thin but you have too many excuses to even start. *shrug*

i mean: it is wednesday. people like you cannot start a diet on a wednesday, really... and you'll exercise tomorrow. sure. wait, you can't exactly exercise in public with the way you look in those workout clothes, eh?


bunbury is back from one of his fashion escapades and now expects me to cook for him, but i refuse to read his mind and also do not know what he likes to eat. he has a history of being sicker than me, with more inpatient hospitalization stays for anorexia and bulimia, some even longer than a year, but i win because my weight never waffled.

anorexia says: "don't say waffle!"

the other day i made, or rather assembled, soy cheese lasagna for him using the homemade noodles that he created by hand. later we made some triple-fudge espresso white chocolate brownie concoction with melted max brenner bars. "this is the best thing that has ever been in my mouth," he said. oh really? today he is going to be getting bailey's irish cream chocolate chip cookies [recipe] and i don't know yet. i cannot keep making him such fattening food as it is stirring a strange feeder type fetish feeling inside me.