Every story has a murder

Writing to you from a coffee house in town called “the crib.” In my cursory research two weeks ago I determined this was a good enough place in Marquette to hang out in the evening. There are literally no coffee shops to hang at in the evening in waterford. Well no, there’s a Starbucks on m59 open until 8 with an aggressively uninviting lobby to sit in. How’s this for a cultural wake up call: I was reading on my kindle at the leo’s coney in waterford (last month, not in like, 2009) and my waitress didn’t know what it was. She called it a cute doodad. If she knew it was an electronic book would I be tried for witchcraft?

I’d go to bars at night, but I don’t drink. It’s been 7 years and there’s just no going back. I think I’d have a new kind of drinking problem, like in Airplane, like if I tried to drink again I’d just miss my mouth. We’re all better off for it, I assure you.

I feel like shit again today. Maybe even worse. I slept until 10:20am, and I had a client at 10! but they forgot too, fortuitous coincidences that happen more often than seems logical. So I start the day as a failure, but again, like yesterday, the trade off is 8.5 hours of sleep. Usually I hover around 7 so I truly don’t know if this is a sign of ease or dis ease. I’ve decided to amend my goal to a 9am wake up. Did I say that yesterday? Well it’s doubly true now.

I woke up with a headache. I’m not drinking enough water. I’m sorry, I hate water. I have a very tiny bladder and it’s a huge liability. Okay. Tomorrow I’ll resolve to drink more water.

And I felt nauseous and threw up but I hadn’t eaten so it wasn’t much. I’m not bulimic but I love throwing up. I know that’s weird but I think it feels great. The moment after you throw up is the sweetest reprieve from whatever’s ailing you. Now that I don’t drink I don’t get to experience it nearly as often, but when I do, boy, I enjoy it.

I only had 4 clients today but I therapized the heck out of them. I think I’m doing really good work up here. I feel present and authentic with them and it feels good to be able to help people even as I struggle to help myself.

There’s a lot of day to fill tonight, and tomorrow evening, and so on until Monday. Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays I don’t see clients at night. I wanted to free up my time to socialize which seems laughable now.

A man on tinder offered to take me out this weekend which sounds at once boring and terrifying, but I’m grateful, too. Will that happen? And if it does, will I be able to write about it? Stay tuned!

Some people who live at the Brentwood were smoking outside. They told me their names and shook my hand. We talked about Wendy, who was romping around in the courtyard with her pink glowstick collar. People are mesmerized by that and who can blame them.

I am tortured by this dumb tiktok I saw by Teal Swan, a woman who is clearly a narcissistic blowhard of a cult leader but you don’t get that way without having a few good ideas. She said that humans are inclined to connection, and any retreat from connection is, you know, bad. This troubles me because I often fantasize about really embracing this aspect of myself. Presently I find the company of others to be uncomfortable, boring, disappointing and depressing. It’s less true for people I know very well but “meeting new people” is simply not a fun thing f or me. I’m not socially anxious, per se. Or maybe I am, I don’t know.

So the fantasy is to give in, get a place out in the woods with dogs and calling it a day. Have you seen the show Hannibal? You should, it’s great. Will Graham lived in the woods with a bunch of dogs he rescued and it looked to me like the greatest place on earth. But Will Graham also went to work every day at the FBI and in fact had a lot of interactions with others so even in this the fantasy is tempered. If I followed through I’d still have my telehealth clients, but those relationships are necessarily one sided, and anyway, the goddamn point is that I am trying to resist the urge to give up on trying to connect with others, despite my natural inclination.

I shared this blog with one trusted friend and I can see already what a slippery slope that is. I’m already 50% more concerned with not being boring. But a blog is an exhibition fetish; if there’s no chance of getting caught you can’t get off. Nobody reads your fucking blog, calm down, but they could! I’m incapable of writing this well and thoughtfully in a journal just for me. I can’t help it, I’m a ham, I need credit. And I hate people and want to live with dogs in the woods. Lol. Okay, enough.