I'm not running out while my heart's unsteady.

My body is doing something weird. It started last night when I was ravenously hungry two hours after eating. So I ate again, but then I did some drinking, so it sort of cancelled out the blood sugar. I was doing fine until about midnight, I got a quick and sudden headache. I figured, hey, I didn't get a lot of sleep the night, I was smoking, I was dehydrated, no prob, let's call it a night. I got home quickly and went to bed. And woke up, still with a headache. Ugh. I've been dragging all day, sluggish and whatnot. Then I realized that yesterday I took all these vitamins and supplements and homeopathic remedies after my trip to Sherwyn's, AND I ate healthy balance meals, so basically I'm going through mini-detox. This has happened to me before, the first 24 hours I feel a little crappy as stuff works it's way in and out of my system, but I still forget. I just woke up from my second nap of the day and drinking tons of water and starting to finally feel a little normal.

But besides that, I still had a fine time out last night on a mini-date with lucyberliner14. We got some food in Boystown, had some free drinks while people-watching at Hydrate, then a visit to Spin with lots of lovely familiar faces that I hadn't seen in a couple weeks. I got felt up by several of them, which was funny. All of them had almost the same reaction -- big grin, big hug, then putting their hands out and asking if they could touch my torso. I happily obliged. I had a great talk with Miss Kitty, comparing scars and similar procedures.

I'm having one of those days where you don't see or talk to anyone and I'm getting lost in my head. I was planning on seeing freakysparks's dance performance tonight, but I can't get myself that far out of the house, so I'll wait and go tomorrow night.

Don't they know it's the end of the world? It ended when you said goodbye.

It's cold, not icy cold or bitter cold, but dry and crisp. I step outside with the dog, pacing the yard, each of us, her on a hunt for smells and investigation, me on a path of pacing, back and forth along the sidewalk, unaware of my movements until I've lost count how many times I've turned on my heel and walked back ten feet, turn, walk, repeat. I have physical tics, mostly small, sometimes big, ways that I manifest energy, sometimes anxiety. The faster my mind moves, the more frequent the need. I scrape across the pavement and when I come to, I can barely recall what even sent me on the mental frenzy. Something about reactive hypoglycemia and emetine cardiotoxicity and exerting control on bodies. (I finally successfully and watched "Superstar: The Karen Carpenter Story".)

I grind my teeth at night, I shake my hands while waiting for water to boil, I pace while letting the dog out, and I have a throat tic that seems to be getting worse. I knock on the desk in between typing sentences and the dog barks and come to investigate, thinking it's a visitor at the door. I think about chemical reactions and how it relates -- how I'm drawn to drugs that slow me down (liquor, weed, kava kava) but wonder if drugs that speed me up would help focus (like ritalin). Mostly I just need to breathe. The past couple weeks my attempts at meditating have been miserable for similar reasons -- I can't slow down my mind enough to even take that first step of watching my breath. My thoughts race off and I'm gone, a million miles away, travelling at the speed of light.

I'm a much better thinker, talker, even writer when I'm walking. The physical activity is perfectly conducive to channeling my energies. Thinking is easiest. With cell phones I can even do the talking. But I still haven't figured out how to write while walking. I suppose I could walk around with a voice recorder but transcribing is so tedious, as I learned awhile back when doing a test for a transcription job. I thought "I'm a fast typist, a good listener with a sponge-like memory, this will be cake." It was nothing of the sort. It produced frustration and anxiety. I seem to need to be good at something initially. It's okay if it starts to get hard again, but if I don't show some semblance of talent and pleasure in that very first instance, I'm doomed to fail at the activity.

Except, I can't remember the beginning of writing. Though I suppose my first real and big attempt at fiction was a novel and I wrote it in 30 days. Not exactly the mania of Handel in producing "Messiah", but yet still a minor miracle. The thing is, I can't write 1500 words a day everyday of my life.

Right now I'd settle for just 150 words every day, provided they were good ones.