FuckityFuckFuckPoo

FuckityFuckFuckPoo

And I STILL have a boner. Soemthing's going on with me, man...

The vitamins, water, juice, and veggies must be working. The lack of meat and alcohol (OK, I'm drinking some Anber Bock now, first time since Saturday) probably helps too. I feel strong. Well, my feet hurt like fuck, but mostly I'm OK.

Six months ago I'd not be writing this. I'd be in bed curled up in a fetal position, full of self-pity, rage, fear and loathing. Drinking gallons of bourbon, and wishing cock cancer on every single motherfucker who'd ever wronged me. Even the ones without cocks.

Tonight I'm listening to an old Genesis bootleg, happily thinking about the little money I made teaching guitar, and nursing an OUTRAGEOUS hardon from the sudden onslaught of fuck-chemicals aimed squarely in the northwesterly direction of one particular female who I'm not going to mention. Tee fuckin' hee.

Work's been a bitch. We've had a problem for a while now of not getting the shit to us until the last minutes, which means fucking around for a while then suddenly working like hell in order to be done about 10 minutes before the truck comes to take it away. This week, the opposite problem. He got EVERYTHING to us and dumped it all on our heads at once. HUGE fucking orders, two to three times bigger than normal, ALL AT ONCE. No goddamn room for anything. Shit everywhere. It's a better problem to have, but it still is fucking nuts. We gave two skids of shit to one of the girls who usually works the smaller orders. Two or three hours work. She's probably still there doing it because she's slow as shit, but fuck it. At least WE didn't have to do it. i spent NINE AND A HALF FUCKING HOURS on the same goddamn order over the past two days, partially because it was huge, partially because some of it was mixed in with an other order by the idiots I work with, partially because I'm an idiot and didn't scan a part before putting it in the box, which meant spending half an hour cutting boxes back open looking for it before the supervisor came by and essentially said, "Fuck it. Ship it anyway and I'll take the heat if the part isn't there." Nice of him. He's borderline. Nice some days, asshole on others, but I usually get on with him OK, and I think I did right today by telling him the truth - "I fucked up and I'm an idiot, and now I'm diggging through boxes looking for this shit." I think he appreciated the honesty, so he gave me permission to do what I was about three mnutes from doing anyway. Send the goddamn thing out anyway.

Then I ran around doing the NEXT big-ass order. Yesterday the conveyor belt was backed up and I had to shuffle shit around. I was running around hard, doing things fast and efficiently, partly because I felt CAPABLE of it, partly because I wanted to impress the black girls whose asses I've been going NUTS over lately (there's two or three in there that make me want some brown sugar in a BAD fuckin' way) and partly becuase...oh fuck...I CARED.

I got done and walked up to Bob and Al. "I better slow down before you people think I actually give a shit about any of this." They liked that.

By five I had a headache and was making more mistakes, more tired. Today wes like that all day. Nothing big, just TONS of little things to make me batshit. I got through pretty fucking well for me, though I did say "fuck" about 796 times.

It's all part of my new holistic approach, which I've aimed at for years now, but never felt capable of until recnetly. It's loose, I certainly allow myself some indulgences, but I'm eating a LOT better, taking MUCH better care of myself. FINALLY. I've wanted this for years, but never felt I really could. I was fucked up over it, and felt like dogfuck all the time.

I went to a shrink last week to tell him all this. How I was diagnosed with ADD at 30, bipolar at 34. Spent two days in a goddamn mental ward. Barely slept for weeks at a time, constantly wanting to rip the head off some random asshole and shit down his neck, always tried as hell, feeling like my mind was going, destroying the only really good relationship with a woman I've ever had because of my goddamn mental illness.

But now i'm doing it all better, and I told him I ran out of lithium almost two months ago and hadn't bothered to get anymore, but I wanted his permission to continue that way, because I didn't want to make that decision on my own. (Though I essentially had already.)

He agreed. He was sort of a stick-up-ass guy, I didn't really LIKE him much, but he agreed that the approach I'm taking is better and if the lithium isn't necessary, I don't need to worry about it. It helped. I had nothing AGAINST it (unlike the other wretched fucking medications I was on before) but I'd rather take care of the actual PROBLEM than simpy massage the symptoms. Fuck that. There's the modern medical industry for you. Mask the pain but don't cure the actual problem. Fucking shitheads. My problem is that I'm in terrible physical health, I laid four thousand times more responibility on myself than my limited range of ability can handle, and I need FOCUS. I can NOT focus living the comfortable yet dichotomisitc life I was in for five years. I goddamn PROVED that shit. I'm better off stripping back the things I need to worry about to as few as possible, and taking my fucking vitamins, not drinking, and eating better. It WORKS. I don't need the drugs, I don't need to go see some annoying bitch who thinks that she has all the fucking answers for a hundred bucks an hour while I sit in a chair and whine about my life. Fuck that. I get more out of eating carrots and playing bass than I EVER got from modern medicine. I'm HAPPY for the first time in goddamn YEARS, because I'm finally MYSELF again. There's still issues to work through, but fuck it, so is it with everyone.

Genesis in 1973. God, I want to dig these dead motherfuckers up out of their shitty little watered-down dungeons and BEAT THEIR ASSES for not being this cool anymore. I've got a bootleg in called "In The Beginning", several CDS of sessions, from the Selling England By The Pound and The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway era. Right now, I'm hearing several tracks in a row of rehearsals for The Battle Of Epping Forest. NOBODY did shit quite like this. It's so full of personality and character, so full of ideas, of killer ensemble work, of goddamn MUSIC. It's ridiculously over-the-top, and I LOVE IT. You could make one big goddamn dogpile out of everything they've done for 25 years. There's more ideas, more FUN going on in this 12-minute work than on any three of their last four albums. Phil Collins PLAYS on this shit, for fuck's sake. How often does THAT happen anymore from that balding limey-ass fuck?

I'm into it tonight. Typing fast, cranking up tunes, ripping a hole in my briefs wanting to fuck something. Anything. Hey look, cheese!

OK, I'm not that sick. Close, but not quite.

Dennis and I recorded a version of Roger Miller's King Of The Road last night. Lots o' fun. I feel my timing rush a bit these days, but I have a better sense of groove than I sued to, and a couple hours a night with a metronome would be good fun if I could make myself do it. I'd like to, really. Fuck off this goddamn shitty job and spend 12 hours a day trunning Phyrigian modes in 17/8. But it ain't gonna happen, so what the fuck. Maybe I'll just go jerk off. Gotta have priorities, baby.

Interested in some of that Staffordshire plate,
Dougie

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