9:05 a.m. - May 02, 2002
Stop, eh?
All these emails I get from readers showering me with empathy, sympathy, support, I'm There For You If You Need Me don't strike me as real, haven't penetrated, bounce off as quickly as oil on Teflon. [I'm not a cook by any stretch and don't really know whether oil does or doesn't stick to Teflon but that's what came to mind.] None of this feels real but then what would? All these defenses and veneers and the reliable M.O., Always look on top of everything, is on automatic pilot and I'm grateful breathing is an autonomic function otherwise I'd have suffocated by now. There is no just cause for this. I have shelter. I have food. I derive an income sufficient and more for my needs. I have a vehicle. I don't owe others anything. The grass is mowed, the shrubs and flowers blooming, the dishes get washed and the counters wiped, I fulfill my duties and obligations and really, what right do I have to whine and feel down and be melodramatic and obsessive and crave people the way I am right now?
Everything swims around in my head and I feel seasick, sometimes dizzy, and I want to knock my head against a pole or something hard to jolt my senses, wake me up, make me feel something that hurts and bleeds instead of being dispassionate and removed from everything. I don't know what's going on with me and apparently I'm too weak to snap out of it and be normal again, not that I've ever been normal. Last night A[deleted]a called and I drifted in and out of her monologue and was confused by what she was saying, like Novocaine had been applied to my ears and I caught every fifth word and I laughed at the wrong places and she was confused and I couldn't get her off the phone fast enough.
The outside is great though. That's good at least. I say it's great to be motivated to write the book but it's not me saying that, it's the veneer me, the one who's supposed to say that, while I watch from inside with glassy eyes. OK now reading that I, Jason, Non-Descript in everything, chuckle at the notion that I'm hosting multiples and wish it were only that easy. But it feels like that, it really does. In the counselor's office I speak drivel and think Come on lady ask me the things I want to talk about and engage in a battle of wills to turn the tables and get her to talk about herself which pleases me.
You know those people who had straight-A report cards but were stupid as hell? That's me.
I have absolutely nothing to say from the pit. You know Abe's Woman in the Dunes? I feel like that, digging a hole that constantly fills itself with more sand and the veneer can't hear the voice inside that shouts Stop! Stop!
