Four Walls And A Mind

Now I am of no authority to diagnose or claim any sort of medically-sold anxiety disorders. I just get really anxious at Walmart.

Today was the day to get out and do some grocery shopping. Not as if it was a beautiful day or the stars were aligned to be so, we just needed to get some food if we wanted to eat tonight. My mother and I visited Walmart--the retail power horse--today and I just can never seem to get through a single aisle without wanting to flip out and start screaming.

For many people, picking up your prescription at the pharmacy and strolling down the aisles without a set agenda of shopping specifics isn't really a big deal. I, to be honest, need to have a game plan mapped out of exactly what I need to get, what category it may fall under, and how the relates to the layout of the entire store. I just want to get in, get my shit, and get the hell home.

It really start in the parking lot. There are people everywhere! People pushing carts between cars, children running around, people stalling in the middle of the lane to find the best parking spot. I just like to enter in through the back, park where there aren't a lot of cars (however close to a cart return*

*--on a side note, I'd like to state that I find it incredibly rude when people leave their discarded carts anywhere and everywhere. I feel that there are a fair amount of cart returns conveniently spaced, and it's not going to fuck up your day to walk your cart over to where it needs to go. You know who's day it's going to fuck up though? The employee who has to carouse the entire parking lot in search of carts that others have so inconsiderately scattered about. It's not a fuckin' hobby. Do the kid a favor for fuck's sake.

), and make a straight shot to the entrance of the store. I feel very uncomfortable being surrounded by other people when I shop. I'm always getting in somebody's way or somebody is in my way. I freeze up and freak out. I don't like to compare prices to find the better deal. My mother always tends to buy things in bulk because the content:price ratio is more economical when you purchase bulk items. However, it always takes up more storage space, and sits for much longer which usually means a considerable amount has to be discarded before we're able to take advantage of the terrific savings (pfffft). Plus the longer you stand in a single spot, makes it easier for what I like to call "The Cluster Fuck of the Ages" to form. It's when all the shoppers flock to a certain aisle because they all want the same thing. I can't find a way out. I'm completely boxed in and I get extremely nervous.

I don't know what my fear is. It's not as if I'm scared of a fire or a riot or a shit bomb being dropped on the town. None of this stuff runs through my mind. It's always just "get out get out get out get far far away". I can't handle being in the middle of large groups of people or being in large open buildings with a lot of square footage unless I'm fairly near some sort of exit. I think part (or even maybe all) of the reason I can get so freaked out was when I was in the middle of the WTO protests/riots in 1999 Seattle. I was dragged along by a bunch of friends. I didn't know why we were protesting or what the big deal was--all I knew is that some people start spazzing and breaking windows and shit about twenty feet away from me. There was just all this chaos and police and screaming and running. It was extremely terrifying for me. I was only fourteen-years old at the time.

I just now noticed that I always shrug my shoulders really high when I type. I'm going to try and correct that.

I have these rituals that I do when I go places (the parking, the shopping lists, etc.) because I know they work for me and I know that I can get in and out with little stress. I feel envious of those who don't find it a hassle to go grocery shopping or even to just leave the damn house. I'm also conflicted with this whole slacker/control freak way of living. I'll admit that I am a lazy person in the perception of some. I have my own time frame for how I do things and it works for me and I kind of have this "good enough" way of getting things done. On other occasions, I feel as if I have to be in control; I need to be organized, thorough, and in charge in order for things to be done right.

I think that I'm so neurotic that I could actually drive a shrink to changing his/her line of practice altogether. I can't even stand psychology/psychiatry. You spend years and tens-of-thousands of dollars reading up on what other people's theories are on 'why we are the way we are'. They don't have the answers anymore than you do, and all they want to do is medicate you and pat themselves on the back for looking up symptoms in a book and nailing a diagnosis to your head.

I don't know where I'm going with this. This happens when I just start typing on a whim without a structure to what I want to say. At least that way I can go back and elaborate or justify the things that I say with credible sources or proven facts. I'm just a random cat who thinks a lot and who is just trying to figure things out for himself. asdfghjkl;' I'm done.

On the upside, I was able to carry on a nice conversation with an attractive cashier who was ringing up our purchase. His name is Benjamin and he was very pleasant. Maybe I'll try to make it out to Walmart more often? Hah.

I had a dream last night.

I dreamt I was back in high school--I have these a lot--and I was walking in to band rehearsal. It's always the last course before the end of the day, and every time I have dreams like this, I'm the last person to show up. I'm not necessarily late for class, I'm always just the last one there. Every time I need to walk through crowds of people and I'm always bumping into music stands, chairs, people's instruments and I'm always in the back of the room because I play trombone. I go to sit next to my friend Rhiannon. She's someone I was always really close with--for over ten years--until about six months ago. We had a falling out and we're not speaking to each other right now. Greg, the first-chair player was absent. I found this weird because he had never missed a single day of class. I took his seat and started fumbling through sheet music. The conductor tells us the first song we're going to play is, of course, the one piece that I can't find in my folder. I feel really low to the ground at this point and sort of isolated in my own little bubble of anxiety.

I never do get to the point of actually playing. Instead I find myself on a bus. I don't really know how to describe the bus in terms of a specific motif, but the windows were blacked out and the seats were aligned along the sides of the bus. Down the middle of the aisle was a black wall with flat-screen televisions mounted down the length of the wall. The colors I remember in the bus were a lot of black, red, purple, and a lot of ambient lights as well. To my right was Rhiannon, and to my left was the conductor, but to my immediate left sat a small girl--probably seven or eight years old. I had a quesadilla in my hand and I'm trying to eat it, but there are two small dogs running around the bus and trying to steal my quesadilla. Every time they try to jump up on my seat, I nudge them until they get distracted by something else, just enough to leave me alone for a while.

The little girl looks at me and says "Are you going to let anyone else have one of those?"

To which I replied "I'm going to take them home and raise them myself...and sell them."

"You're going to take them home for yourself and sell them?"

"That's what I said."

She then feels compelled to leave her seat and tell everyone on the bus about my business venture regarding Mexican cuisine. I look to my right where Rhiannon is sitting and all of these men whom I've dated in the past start coming up to Rhiannon and trying to force themselves upon her. With each one she laughs, pushes them away, and says "I have a husband."

I then wake up at four-o'clock in the afternoon. I slept for a total of fifteen hours.

I don't know what it is with my sleeping habits, or why I have such oddball dreams. They're even weirder when I sleep under the influence of some kind of drug. I don't really think my dreams mean anything. I think I'm just bonkers in the brain.

After recent events, I've decided to shy away from those who have been clouding my thoughts with their own incessant bullshit. I've been out of school for years, but the same ol' problems seem to arise in my social circle. It's ridiculous and I don't have the patience to make sense of things. I'd rather just let it go until everything has calmed down. I'm stripping myself of the emotional attachments I share with some and with others--well--I'm just relieving myself of their selfish demands and self-righteous protests.

I used to always feel the need to get out of the house and stay out from the time I got off work until the moment I was too tired to live anymore. I used to feel that's what I had to do to keep my sanity, but I've realized what's really important. Sure it's healthy to socialize and be with your friends, but too much of a good thing can really get down on you. Take some time away! Let the people who matter know that you just need some space, and the people who don't matter can just go fuck themselves.

With my extra alone time I'm able to write more music and read from my books. I have time to research answers to the questions that pop in my head throughout the day. For example: what the fuck does cantankerous mean?!

can·tan·ker·ous [kan-tang-ker-uhs]
–adjective
disagreeable to deal with; contentious; peevish; ill-tempered and quarrelsome

Well there you go! My little brother, Jacob, is a cantankerous drug addict who failed himself at life.

He is, however, an inspiration to the creative agenda.

You're lying to yourself and all of us about your good intentions
Your pseudo recovery blankets the motives in your guise
Indulging in the prosperity of man's warm inventions
You hold your ears as your maker cuts you down to size
You've pinched off more than you can smoke, little boy
You've stolen your last quarter from the corners of innocents
This home is no longer your salvation for acting coy
Well your eyes it's time to shed the lies and live out consequence

Thanks tons, you fuck!

I will be leaving on monday to visit my mother in Philadelphia. There I will be getting my first tattoo, my first haircut in over a year, and hopefully get my tongue re-pierced. It should be hella fun on a bun with a coke and a straw!

My boss is on vacation for the week. I couldn't possibly be happier. While her bitch ass is relaxing in Hawaii with her husband, the rest of us are working in peace. My boss is a crazy, Russian, nuts-ass bitch. She often forgets that we're human and made only of cells, two arms are all that we possess, and we have physical and mental limitations. Her expectations of performance are unrealistic and down-right illogical. We're operating no different than if she were here, but now we don't have someone screaming the obvious and cracking the proverbial whip. This week of work is going to be better than the one when I had my own personal stash of toot that I periodically snorted in the employee bathroom.

Plus I get more cigarette breaks!

The weekend is a gift from my employer to have some time to relax, reflect, and to stay out as late as I damn well please without the anxiety of having to get out of bed at ass o'clock in the morning and work.

It's saturday night; I want to go to a bar or a friend's house and get loose with some Grey Goose.

Scenario: House Party. All of my friends are together in one place. We all know eachother and we're all having a fine and dandy time. That's just not enough for some people I guess.

"I'm getting antsy, let's go to ______, they have drink specials tonight!"

Really? You want me to leave a sure thing where I have already established my place on the couch with a 7&7 and a conversation with Suzy Squatface about the price of rice in China. Yeah awesome, let's go to a bar where we can spend more money on ridiculously overpriced alcohol and have to weave our way around dirty people that we don't know. The music is way too damn loud at any establishment to talk to anyone or to even hear yourself speak. To top it all off, we've already been drinking and you want us to get behind the wheel of a vehicle. I don't understand you. You want to dance? Well bitch, move the coffee table out of the way and turn it the fuck up!

Same with bar hopping. It's super lame.

I don't understand why some things just aren't good enough. Do you have a bar book that you're trying to fill? Are you looking for an excuse to bum $20 off me next week because you need to fill up your gas tank and you spent all your money on a cover charge and two drinks? Are you trying to get harassed/raped/arrested/killed?

Just chillax. It's cool, we're cool, and we don't need to peace out any time soon.