an attempt to update about my actual life
Jul. 6th, 2003 11:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rushthatspeaksIt is too damn hot.
I seem to have gotten really, really oversensitive to temperature in recent years. Ask anybody who's around me during winters how much I completely fail to cope with the fact of cold, and now I seem to be completely failing to cope with the fact of heat. My depression worsens in summers-- I've been noticing that for the last couple of years-- but there's a difference between 'depressed' and 'walking dead from heat exhaustion'. Bleah. Air conditioning is my friend. Funny how I never seem to live anywhere with it.
The other problem with summer is that I only really wake up after dark. I spend all day sitting around feeling blah, and then as soon as night hits, even if the temperature doesn't cool down, I get the same kind of vague itchy needing-to-do-something-energetic twitch that I used to get in high school on nights when I'd just take the car out and drive around for the sake of driving around because I couldn't think of anywhere I wanted to go or anything I wanted to do but just driving was very nearly good enough, especially if the radio was being cooperative. The urge to go out drinking or dancing or generally carousing or to get into a really serious fight or go to a punk concert. The kind of mood where by the end of the night there had better be a new scar or a new haircut or a new set of impressive memories, and the desire to do something or other phenomenally stupid is nearly uncontrollable. In fact, I've done ninety percent of the truly idiotic things I've ever done after dark when I'm twitching with being awake and having nothing to amuse myself with.
It's not really a self-destructive force, that I'm talking about here. It can go just as easily toward art or schoolwork or something else productive. But when I get into this kind of mood I can't do anything halfway, and this is how I talked myself into most of the serious encounters I've ever had with mind-altering chemicals and into at least three beds I should not have been anywhere near if I knew what was good for me, which I did.
So every so often I get bored and overheated and lonely and tired and cranky and I miss my high school hell-raising days, even though I hated them even at the time. I miss the fear. I miss having to watch myself because it took my wits and concentration to stay alive and out of trouble, or not in too much trouble. Writing is another dare at that sort of game-- how much is too much to say to people? How much should I make available?
Hell with it. I'm still bored.
I need to go clubbing or something.
Well, next Thursday evening I'll be in NYC. Maybe it won't be too hot out to wear any of my leather.
I seem to have gotten really, really oversensitive to temperature in recent years. Ask anybody who's around me during winters how much I completely fail to cope with the fact of cold, and now I seem to be completely failing to cope with the fact of heat. My depression worsens in summers-- I've been noticing that for the last couple of years-- but there's a difference between 'depressed' and 'walking dead from heat exhaustion'. Bleah. Air conditioning is my friend. Funny how I never seem to live anywhere with it.
The other problem with summer is that I only really wake up after dark. I spend all day sitting around feeling blah, and then as soon as night hits, even if the temperature doesn't cool down, I get the same kind of vague itchy needing-to-do-something-energetic twitch that I used to get in high school on nights when I'd just take the car out and drive around for the sake of driving around because I couldn't think of anywhere I wanted to go or anything I wanted to do but just driving was very nearly good enough, especially if the radio was being cooperative. The urge to go out drinking or dancing or generally carousing or to get into a really serious fight or go to a punk concert. The kind of mood where by the end of the night there had better be a new scar or a new haircut or a new set of impressive memories, and the desire to do something or other phenomenally stupid is nearly uncontrollable. In fact, I've done ninety percent of the truly idiotic things I've ever done after dark when I'm twitching with being awake and having nothing to amuse myself with.
It's not really a self-destructive force, that I'm talking about here. It can go just as easily toward art or schoolwork or something else productive. But when I get into this kind of mood I can't do anything halfway, and this is how I talked myself into most of the serious encounters I've ever had with mind-altering chemicals and into at least three beds I should not have been anywhere near if I knew what was good for me, which I did.
So every so often I get bored and overheated and lonely and tired and cranky and I miss my high school hell-raising days, even though I hated them even at the time. I miss the fear. I miss having to watch myself because it took my wits and concentration to stay alive and out of trouble, or not in too much trouble. Writing is another dare at that sort of game-- how much is too much to say to people? How much should I make available?
Hell with it. I'm still bored.
I need to go clubbing or something.
Well, next Thursday evening I'll be in NYC. Maybe it won't be too hot out to wear any of my leather.
