reporting in

well, the hair got me through a lot of the day... but not the whole thing. i'd say it got me as far as 7pm, after that I was on my own and, frankly, I didn't do so well. maybe it was the wontons. or the pervasive sense of humiliation. ah, if only i cared less for my dignity, the places I could go!

i remain buoyed by my friends. without them i would sink and dissolve like a cube of sugar in hot coffee, fearful of the inevitable stir stick. and the small successes: feeling competant, finishing a task, getting up in the morning, making dinner, doing the dishes.

fright night at the pne offered some solace: a safe venue to scream as strange men dressed in black whispered "don't go this way" and smacked the walls with plastic knives. and the swings (among my favourites) offering a brief sense of flight and freedom, lifted above the vagaries of everyday to the perfect soundtrack of acdc's thunderstruck. and finally "hell's gate" (a place I fear because I worry about the salmon) with its rotations and too tight safety harnesses. but i did enjoy being out of control, thrillingly tossed around, yet safe in the knowledge that it can only last so long and there's no slipping out of the restraints.

i wake up in the middle of the night in mid-conversation. my dreams are not fantasies, but arguments. i dream of slicing through the skin of everyday pleasantries. release the blood. let the lassitude flow. i look at my hands, my wrists, my belly, my hair: nothing seems familiar. the mirror reveals a face I remember, but is unrecognizable as me.

marcus told me that nicotine impairs the seratonin uptake in your brain. which would explain why nothing feels good right now. at least while i was screaming my guts out in the "what lurks in the dark house of sheer terror" i didn't feel the numb.

ah, the numb. i had forgotten about that! that's why i want to drink and make out with boys and scream and cry and exhaust myself -- all so that i won't have to feel the numb. or not feel the numb. or whatever.