Ripping through a dozen angry bears...

I done fed myself too much caffeine today. This causes a large amount of general anxiety, coupled with obsessive thinking and effectively, a bit of depression.

I did it to myself, things were just peachy until mid-way through the third cup of coffee, here at home, while I idly watched the 21 Jump Street revamp (pretty funny, though I expect I missed a few things, having never watched the series, and appreciated the Depp Deluise cameos, both of which are still very sexy man folks), did some internet business, and tried to drum up some work. None was particularly effective, so my idleness became quite a sedentary state, as I blinked blandly at the pile of dishes that need washing and generally became twitchy and over-anxious while giving into obsessive, not in the least bit fruitful thinking.

Namely, that Chris's birthday is in two days and I wish it made sense to do something for him, because fuck I'm awesome at birthday shit for boyfriend-types, that I don't ever open the front door to my place without hoping he's standing on the curb, fresh out of a taxi, all Troy Dyer in Reality Bites-like, or that the Sandra Bullock as Mary Magdalene black velvet painting he said he'd still paint for me when we broke up (I didn't ask, he said outright he'd do it, that he wanted to, even if its arrival was upsetting for me, which it couldn't ever not be if we're not together, but I still want it, very much. Tom Cruise as Jesus Christ needs his obvious [to me] companion) would be there on the porch, delivered by the USPS.

Or, better yet, that he'd be standing on the porch with the painting in hand, a shy, maybe a little scared, grin on his face.

And I'd welcome him in, happily, and we'd cry as we are wont to do, being emotional retards, and we'd have some serious talks, or maybe we wouldn't at all, maybe we'd just break down and kiss and love each other, and that would be it, an admission of us both being ridiculous, difficult, impossible people, but an understanding that we are worth working out. Because I still believe that we are.

But every time I open the door, there's nothing there, save some grocery fliers, or mail for my shitty former roommate from the state about her child support, or packages, abundant packages, for the people upstairs, who are nubile, pretty artists in their early 20s, from all over the world.

So I'm trying to balance out the over-caffeination with a little whiskey. I'm still twitchy, and writing this has made me weep a little, but the whiskey is effective and I'm feeling my mood elevate a little. Such a delicate balance, these drugs! Too little caffeine, and I feel cobwebbed and sad and achy. Too much and I'm hyper-neurotic and can get pretty depressed. Too much alcohol leads to a whole host of issues. And too little of it, well, I am a social butterfly, I need my social lubrication.

And, as soon as I've washed some more dishes (two sinkfuls in the last hour, about two more to go), and put myself together a bit, I'll head out on my bike. Maybe aimlessly, maybe with friends and a destination in mind. The night is young.

It's been almost decided that I am headed to Chicago by bus and then Louisville by car on Monday. I bought a very cheap bus ticket today, so if the plan falls through, I am only out $34. My friend's brother is hosting a Morrissey night in Louisville, he is opening his house to me and my friend from Chicago, whether or not his sister is able to make it with us. I look forward to the Morrissey, to seeing him again, and to testing whether I can be responsible with my heart, my body, and my general place in life by not acting on our flirtations. I have never been the most emotionally stable person, I've more or less been in a "bad place" for as long as I can remember, with only infrequent peaks in emotional stability, or feelings of being on solid ground. Travel always helps, and is actually fairly imperative. But that doesn't mean I need to act on a crush. I want better for myself, and for the people who are to interact with me now and in the future.

And the simple fact is, I'd rip through a dozen angry bears to get to/save/be near Chris again.