Oh I remember what I wanted to say...

1. I've lost my personality
It actually disappeared some time ago. This, thankfully, was brought to my attention by Troy Davis. I think it suffocated underneath my extra weight, and when I lose it, I'll find it fossilized. It's actually only fossilized in text, documented when I was 18. I was reading ramblings I wrote a long, long time ago. I'm so blown away by the boy I used to be (I used the word "textualize" -- huh?). What happened to him? As Troy pointed out last night while we enjoyed the wafting cool breeze on the benches outside of Frys Electronics, I will never lose any of my weight; I won't accomplish any of the goals I talk about; I won't do anything until I first love myself. I know this -- I know everything, damnit, and therein lies part of the problem; I'm so tenacious that I don't listen to any advice I receive. It's my way, all or none. Knowning, however, and feeling are two different things.

When I see my therapist on Friday, I'm asking her to refer me to a psychiatrist so I may begin social anxiety medication or something. I feel so awkward in the most mundane of activies; today I picked and stared at my fingernails while ordering lunch at work and had to remind myself no body was looking at me.

2. I'm in love for the very first time again.
Actually, I'm not in love, but man, oh man, is Rob Ron a man! And his personally exacerbates my lack of one. He's originally for North Carolina, and he looks like the very first man I ever fell in love with named Larry. He's so engaging; he can go on and on talking non-stop about the most useless shit, unconsious about everything but surprisingly connected, and will not hestitate to tell you what he's thinking whether this information is warranted or not. My inability to hold a converstion, probably, went completely unnoticed except by me, of course, since I'm sensitive to everything; the heartbeat of a Mexican fruitfly, the struggle of the Basque people of Spain, the GNP of Boliva in 1973. I see this as if it was archived news footage running as a headline on CNN.

Ron reminds me of a Sims character I created with Larry in mind. I was making a sleezy Sims scenario true to gay life; xxx-tra hung big bad brutal body-builder top seeks insatiable bubble-butt boy bottom ... you know the type, or dream of him.

Why does depression fosters such creativity? Van Gogh comes to mind, poor 'lil ear. I'll write more later, maybe, if I feel like it. Meanwhile, "On the wings of love, only the two of us together flying high" in my own warped world. Actually, I'm not as ga-ga as this probably sounds. When I think about it, the orchestra cresendos for only a second or so. Then I see, in slow motion as I walk down a generic street, bulldozed buildings on fire, rain-sloshed streets reflecting the oscillating lights of firetrucks, while Louis Armstrong's "What a Wonderful World" is queued in the background.