There’s a reason I haven’t been writing. Things have been going full bore since Friday afternoon, as bad as January. I can’t think in complete sentences right now. No matter how hard I focus, I can’t string more than three together before it breaks off into a half-minute of gibberish that fades to silence. There have been a number of arrests and one woman had her child returned to his father. I’m seeing faces I haven’t seen in five or ten years. It has to be winding down.
It turns out that what precipitated it was that, while I was being stoic and quiet about Elaine, I was listening to music that captured my mood, picking songs one at a time, angry music from my youth. This sounds too stupid to possibly be true, but what I was told on Saturday night was that my OCD (complete scum) neighbor thought I was picking songs too well and that this meant I think I’m special. (I am.) So four days of outlandish cruelty ensued. I think they were angry that the local culture of permissiveness towards torturing me for pettiness or entertainment is threatened. If it sounds as though I’m casting things in a selective light, I understand. But I don’t think I am.
There are still people coming by the door tonight. We’ll see how tomorrow goes. The pillow on the next cushion is squirming around out of the corner of my eye. But I’ve held my cool well. Familiar faces stop by to smile at me. Even Elaine laughed at one of my jokes. Funny. One of those rock bottom moments and I feel like I have a little family here.
This feels more like a blog entry than a note to you, Mistress Lea. I just wanted to explain my absence. I need somebody so bad right now. This empty ache is killing me. I feel a panic and sense I should stop and I realize it’s because I cannot pleasure you. I think the things about you that I know to be true and I begin to melt, falling asleep as I do.
My brain won’t be firing right until next Monday, likely. I have two different, steady hallucinations coming from in front of me and the back wall. The first sounds like the world’s most insipid documentary, about a memorabilia collection involving items from some arbitrary person’s life and, not an explanation of the items, the story behind it, but an overarching narrative explaining why these items were representative of that part of the individual’s life and the clustering of them. I’m trying not to listen. Christ, now they’ve moved onto his browser history.
I’m overloaded tonight. I need too much. I just want to sit in the dark and talk on the phone. I love you. I’ll be back in a day or two.
