In a too-comfortable chair. Using PC from living room chair on the big TV. Trying to restream the live cam and payphone radio as now streaming on YT but this chair makes things too cozy, too contrary to doing anything that could be interpreted as work. I mean we’re talking restream keys and RTSP and other stuff I am handy with at most times when at a computer but this is just too comfortable. Too lazifying. Plus I took a new anxiety/anti-depressant pill today and I think it’s working. It’s calming me. I’ve been possibly becoming dependent on Lorazepam without realizing that was a problem. I guess I don’t read enough about this stuff but I’ve been taking it for years, ever since the humbling/humiliating hospital stay in… when was that, anyway? 2016? I don’t know. The years pass like strangers, a tumid presence and then they’re gone.
I waited until a day when I would have no concerns about adverse reactions to a new pharmaceutical. Today had nothing to speak of in terms of responsibilities, so if the nausea and incontinence and uncontrollable expulsion of miasma from my nostrils (there are potential side-effects of the new med) were to erupt I would not deliver this performance in front of my life’s stake holders.
Snow is on the ground so, if I venture out, I will wear the new snowboots I bought with money earned playing video games on those cheesy get-paid-to-play-games apps. I honestly did enjoy the games but they wore on me after a while. I’ll keep the boots, though.
Snowboots means I am wearing the snowman socks, which I should be embarrassed to wear visibly. Ever since a woman ridiculed and sent me away or wearing solid white, thick white socks I’ve been hesitant to even let it be known that I own several pair. My inventory of socks is not a common point of discussion in my daily machinations, but should it rise up as a talking point I am vigilant and careful not to reveal my drawer full of shite socks.
She said I looked like a snowman wearing those horrible socks. This was not a humorous or cheeky comment. She was angry. I was wearing nothing else at the time and her anger and disdain caused immediate shrinkage. I didn’t know one could feel so virulent about a man’s socks. This was, however, a woman of sartorial disposition. Clothes were her life, or at least her job.
I will go out onto the snowy surfaces, white socks skillfully hidden. This matters because I still see her around on occasion, though we pretend not to remember. I happen to pass her house on occasion. I mean as far as I know she still lives there. The path is exactly on my to other things. I don’t have any intention or desire to ever talk to her again. But I like to imagine that our occasional passages help remind her of all the lies she had to keep track of to simply keep our so-called relationship going. She was a woman with a lot of lies to keep track of. She would deny the snowman socks outburst. That denial would be a lie.
