I feel okay. Yesterday a noisy lumbering garbage truck took away the stuff I'd cleaned out over the weekend. It may have been weighing on me. Reminding me of other times when I've let go of things and the regret that follows. But I feel okay. Can't even remember what was in there. Maybe that's what bothers me. Hanging on to something because I thought it was important and it wasn't. Or I wanted it to be important, and it wasn't.

Trying to get unstuck from the idea of what I was and what I am and what I want to be. Treat the story as a loop, stop looking for beginnings and endings. Chapters. Chapters are useful.

In this chapter, I try to shake myself of the influences on my desires. We'll get to the desires themselves later; for now the first step is to understand the forces at work. My value to the nation is to be a productive worker, which generates treasure for the keys to power. This isn't the worst situation because I still have some currency, my work, to exchange for resources that I can allot to my own values. Existentially, it's a bit tough on morale. It would be nice to feel appreciated, with the caveat that feeling appreciated is not a real indicator of anything. Also, I am suspicious of any compliment I didn't fish for.

In this chapter I realize I'm pretty okay with the work-consume-work cycle, except that I'm aware of it. Or want things above my station. Note to self: research starting a church. I will hold auditions for a suitable deity this Sunday at the empty canal.

Now I remember! During my mid-year review at work and I had looked up ways to bullshit through pointless reviews, and I came across an article about a guy who does incredibly short employee reviews. In the article, he says executives only fire about 10% of employees for incompetence, and the other 90% are fired because they are annoying.

Suddenly it all makes sense.

There was something, there was something, now it's gone, now it's gone. Was it the blues? Was it a squeaky shoe? Was it an ache of the wrist or a kinked neck? Was it something great?

Or a feed chute, a pair of boots, circled by bleached animal bones.
Was it this?

Kelly and I went out for shrimp tacos last night. They were delicious. A little place called Tacos Jaliscos. Mexican food, but different from the Sonoran food I'm used to. City food, I might call it. I was pleased.

Took the dogs for a walk after dinner. I remembered back when Watson and I would go out to Kiwanis Park late at night and I would let him off his leash and we would scamper around like fools. Marceline is a good girl, but she's too excitable to let off the leash.

It's been a month, hasn't it? Since I changed my brain meds. I think so. Closer to two months. I felt a twinge of nausea this morning and remembered it used to always make me feel like that when I took it. Rare now.

There remains a sneaking suspicion that it's working too well. I rather like having a healthy rebellious streak, that anti-authoritarian irrationality marbled through like chocolate in fudge ripple ice cream.

Can't have too much chocolate in there, because at some point you're basically eating syrup.

With every brain medication I wonder if something is missing. What is it hiding from me? Is my personality like an orchestra, and the medicine is making sure the bassoon doesn't come in late, putting a little more flair in the strings, and finally bringing some order to the anarchist revolution that's been taking place in the percussion section since the start of the show?

Possibly it's more like a song already recorded in the studio. Turn up the bass, turn down the treble, tweak the sounds that are already there without really creating anything new.

At least it lets me dream again. Maybe that's what makes the world seem a little different now.

Moderately productive this week. I settle on "moderately" because I did nothing on Saturday and a lot on Sunday. I discarded a duffel bag full of things. Many random things. It felt good and a bit sad. I've taken a bit of inspiration from Norm Macdonald, the comedian. On some interview he said he didn't have things. I was impressed. The ascetic lifestyle has an appeal I can't deny. It's probably because that the amazing things and urge to obtain amazing things is never-ending. I need to pretend I'm moving. Decide what would come with me.

Emotionally exhausting, but worth it. Whatever I am, it's not things. I resent attachment. Perhaps that can be harnessed for good.