A Mysterious State of Mind

On the night of July 31, 2023 it is obvious to me that someone dosed the CPAP machine with LSD.

I woke up feeling optimistic. It had nothing to do with sleep - I've been using CPAP monster for two weeks now and I am still fucking exhausted.

No, this had nothing to do with rest. It was a mysterious state of mind. I was defeated by July, utterly humiliated - I gave up for the last three days of the month; just fucking quit. Yet I wake up on August 1 feeling positive? And on 8/02 and again today? 

The only fly in the ointment was work. I prance into work on 8/02 and the psyche is immediately and viciously slaughtered. This job, man - so meaningless and boring beyond comprehension - it stifles me, Edith. I cannot fight back - other than to leave. Which I will.

Anyway, I cannot comprehend this positivity. It is happening outside of my levers of control. It just is. Maybe I cultivated resilience in my psyche.

In 2021 I worked on my brain with pick and axe and built up momentum and confidence and burst forth into 2022 ready to finally succeed. Then my knee failed mid-January, surgery followed, and all bets were off. Down and out. The mighty oak was felled.

Yet, once again, in 2023 I burst upon the scene locked and loaded. Exercising religiously right from the start, lost a lot of weight, feeling relatively good about myself. The knee has set me back once again - an exciting explosion of pain - but I am working on it. Making enough progress to keep me away from Dr. Mobile for now.

Earlier this year I made the comment that I am fully committed to change in 2023. I will not end the year where I started it. My life must be radically different by then. I will accept no less.

Apparently I was being truthful. My brain is working furiously to keep me on track, no matter how much poison it bathes in.

Honestly I could go back to sitting on a bar stool, consuming whiskey, listening to music and laughing my ass off. Part of me prefers that option. I enjoy it. And if things do not go well in the next five months, well, revelry could be my final lifestyle.

Or I could succeed. In some form or some fashion. Manufacture happiness and pride. Command respect. Achieve financial security.

Either way, I will not be sitting around like some fucking lump just awaiting to die.

I got better things to do.

Here's to August and sweet, mysterious inspiration.