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01:40 - November 24, 2002
It was an accident that I was up long enough to see the sun rise. It rose about a half hour after Chris, following a final bout of drunken singing along with Faith No More, passed out face down on the couch, thank God, because if he had warbled anything else into my ear soaked in beer breath, I would have punched him harder than I already had. Andrew and I were playing cards, past the point of even thinking about being tired, and it was getting to six and passing six and really passing six and the sun was not rising. Why wasn't it rising? With daylight savings time, especially, 6:25 is really late for the sun not to be rising. I kept looking out the window and being distracted and asking Andrew whether he thought the world had ended and if we were to open the door, we'd be taken away in a swirl of the cosmos, but just as I was about to seriously freak, dots of red came creeping up over the Denver skyline to the east and I breathed out a sigh of relief.
This room smells of burnt popcorn. I am thinking about natural experiences. Like would anything have been better on weed, or would everything have been worse? And does it make the memory any less if it's blurred by something, even though at the time it's sharper than anything else? I want to know if I would have been so entranced by the sunrise were I not high. I want to know if I would have cried after the meteor shower had I been high. I want to not think about being high. I want to be whatever I'm going to be and not think about it. I want to be one of those people who wanders around contentedly seemingly forever and never ponders these things, and has to see everything to be 'good' or 'bad' or 'beautiful' or 'ugly' or whatever whatever whatever. The people who live the kinds of postcard sunset on the beach moments are those who never would think to put it into words and then ponder the words put into it. Verbalizing it is beside the point. As of two weeks now I am off of Paxil again. I got my wish; the mediocrity is gone. My highs are not as low and my lows are not as high. My stomach is killing me; that was not part of my wish. Being so lonely is killing me; that was not part of my wish either. But I can't continue on, drugged up on Paxil, not knowing whether I'm happy because I'm happy or I'm happy as the people portrayed in the Wobbly Headed Bob comics; i.e. not happy, just stupid. If I'm going to be drugged up on something, make it worthwhile. Better yet, why don't I not be drugged up on anything? because I'm exhausted, that's why.
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