I feel trapped in this job. No desire to do it anymore. Going through the motions feels futile. I am empty inside, everything in me has drained away. I see sweat and grime under my fingernails and swear I’m bleeding, oozing viscous bile from my flesh and pores. I read an article by someone who said she tried to treat her depression with masturbation. She would orgasm 2 or 3 times a day, convinced this release of endorphins or whatever the hell happens when you O would function as a salve of some sort. She came to the conclusion that it just doesn’t work like that. I don’t regard the act as anything that would make my darkness go away. Sleep hygiene is to blame today, I think. I did it again, knowing full well what was happening. I took my meds and went back to bed, basking in the serenity those pills bring to me in a way I can’t usually appreciate. Usually I take the pills just before showeing. The tranquilizing effects are not really experienced in that environment. But lying in bed after the pills is as close to serenity and happiness as I can find these days. I was finally woken by a dream, I screamed myself awake so I guess it’s a nightmare. It felt so real. I turned tosward the bedroom door and a black woman wearing prison garb was standing there, facing away at first but then she turned toward me. From that I screamed myself awake, and immediately angrified over the time. It was almost 11am. On work days I’m up at 5:30. This kind of erratic sleep pattern is not good for me, or anybody.
The train today was unusual. It was quite crowded. A woman, thin and probably in her 40s, was clearly reading over my shoulder as I scrolled through articles about orgasm and depression, masturbation and mental health. I wonder if she wanted to start a conversation about the subjects. She did not look at me as she left the train. As she left the train was mobbed with British tourists, a very loud and rangy bunch of people. They had no subway etiquette whatsoever. I was crowded into a corner seat and when I needed to exit nobody even budged to get out of my way. I ended up bumping somebody because of it, probably looking like an asshole to them but they looked like major league assholes to me. Big deal.
Yesterday I walked. 16000 steps, I think it was. Up to the Buccaneer Diner where I was afraid to enter, but it’s fine. I had read an old article that said the Buccaneer has a bunch of old dead payphones. But that was over 7 years ago so they are probably gone by now. I did not want to enter and just leave, though what difference it would make to my serenity is debatable. The place looked expensive. Everything looks expensive to me now.
Work is very slow today. Normally I never do this. I never write my personal blatherings while on the clock. But it doesn’t matter. Nobody cares. I am treated like an adult because I am an adult, a reliable and industrious individual. Yes.
The walk felt good but all the while I was crying inside, feeling the meanness of time wasted. Time ticking away while I wastefully oversleep. I found a small amount of joy getting my Plex to actually work. It’s been saddening to me that the new setup is so flaky. I procured a cheap mini PC and installed Plex new again, reindexing my bazillion audio and video tracks and movies. I revisited some old payphones, one of which might be slated for removal if I interpreted the orange cone next to it correctly.
…
It is later. I wandered FiDi for about 40 minutes. Nice day out. I’ll never understand the Oculus. It’s like wandering around inside a giant ribcage. The exterior looks like a spiky vagina. There is apiano there most days but I’ve not played it. I used to play the one at 180 Maiden Lane but I don’t go there for anything. I don’t really have anything to say. It’s warm in here, and uncomfortable. I like a good sweat but sweating at the office is a little weird.
I discovered a mysterious street in Rosedale. Sapphire Street. Houses on the street have what appear to be old-style buiding numbers, before everything was hyphenated. But the buildings don’t look that old. There is an area in Forest Hills where buildings use non-hyphenated addresses. There is also an area in Ridgewood like that. I don’t know if these buildings are just older than they look or if they for some reason use non-hyphenated addresses. That’s what I will spend the rest of this restless day researching.
