I sincerely believe all these drugs are having a deleterious effect on me – the Ativan in particular. Something clouds my memory, my faculties. Since they are anti-anxiety drugs, they seem to impede my judgment as well. I say things that I ought not to say; my filters do not operate as they should. Nothing else, though, helps me to sleep. Without them, especially at times like now of very great worry and trepidation, I am up every two hours. Sometimes I am anyway, but the pills keep me just groggy enough to get me back to some disturbed half-sleep.
Today, they made me think that I was a week ahead and that I had to read at the poetry project tonight instead of next Friday night. So after returning home, feeding the cats, taking half an Ativan, and lying on the floor with my legs up trying to settle my sacrum and my worried mind I got myself up and dressed and made my way through this weirdly balmy full moon night to the east village. Oh what a horrible place it is on weekend nights the women (girls) teetering about on fuck me shoes and looking stupid all the boozhee revelers drunk and seeming aimless. Of course I am aimless too, and on pills, but not drunk, and I’m wandering through these hordes of people feeling so rootless and disconnected I wonder if I should die. I wonder if he would be happy if I were to die, since that would solve all of our immediate (i.e. temporary) and grossly exaggerated problems. But I think killing oneself is both rude and difficult. I guess. If I were to take all the pills I have accrued at once, what would happen? I have ambien, Valium, klonopin, remeron, I don’t know, what else, all kinds of pharma… but probably they would just make me barf and I am vomitophobic and besides too smart, pretty, and considerate to wipe myself out. You know, this isn’t ideation, exactly, but it sort of is one step away from it. I would never forgive myself if I killed myself. That is dark humor: get it?
Next morning. No hot water. It’s torture. I’m doing the prairie thing and heating up big pots of water to put in the bath. This is actually life-affirming, so if you were worried by the previous paragraph, please don’t be, unless you feel moved to go out and do something fun with me to remind me how various and delightful this world is. I am trying to write a clever intro for Abby while not watching the pots in order that they will boil. The wind blusters outside. Everything is temporary! I wanted to go to a yoga class this morning but needed hot water, so no yoga, just dance later and then poetry later. I love what someone told me recently, that people will let you down but writing will not. There is always this. I am such a little social molecule, I need to bounce off other molecules, I should have married someone else, although I’m not sure who, when I was much younger, and had many children, only in order to have that unit, that connectedness… but that was neither my desire nor my destiny it seems. I plunge my face into Dante’s white belly, wrap my arms around him, his purr is the most exquisite succor. I like people, too, but they seem so damaged, and guarded, and complex… and so… cruel.