The current mood of kinetic66@yahoo.com at www.imood.com

The Downward Spiral....
Again Mr. Smarty Pants has been inconsistent with his posts. But of late i've been fairly inconsistent with any form of communication other than the proffesional concerns of work and a few talks with mom.....other than that i have rarely communicated over the last couple of weeks....and the trend continues to grow. Mr. Smarty Pants has recieved e-mails from acquaintances asking why i've gone MIA...but i don't respond as it would totally defeat the purpose of being MIA thus making it an oxymoron. And Mr. Smart Pants has had another revelation....i am an alcoholic. Albeit a functional one but a boozer nonetheless. Never on a weekday. Never at work. Never when on the motorbike. But always on any free day alone when all necessary and distracting tasks are completed and the mind is free to focus on despair i turn to my friend. Shelly West said it best....

"All those little shooters
How I love to drink them down
Come on bar tender lets have another round
Well the music is playing
And my spirits are high
Tomorrow might be painful
But tonight we're going to fly

Jose Cuervo
You are friend of mine
I like to drink you with
A little salt and lime
Everytime we get together
I sure have a good time
You're my friend, you're the best
Mi amigo"

Mr. Smarty Pants will not go into detail as to the quantity of booze involved in his binges but lets just say that i can enter a local liquor store and conduct a business transaction without a word being exchanged. Not to mention if i ever skipped a weekend those same establishments may post a "have you seen this man?" photo of yours truly between the lottery machine and the donation can with the starving dog on it. (which by the way....i always stuff a few bills in that can...)
In any case it seems Mr. Smarty Pants is finding his own company less and less tolerable. And barring the distractions of work at the hospital or at the clinic...my time alone seems to leave me little recourse. Weekends are a thankful blur for the most part but i am well aware that the road i've been taking can only lead to worse places not better ones. And what is a bit more disturbing is the fact that i don't seem to care. Sort of like driving a car towards a distant wall at high speed...being conscious of it....but not diverting from it. I would use the term "self destruction" were it not for the fact that it seems too dramatic considering my placidity and nonchalance despite a growing demise...

But in fact...who gives a shit..??
i mean really...who..??

Apparently not Mr. Smarty Pants. And his is the only opinion that seems to count at this time. I must remember to tell my doc that the antidepressants he prescribed apparently um....suck. And Mr. Smarty Pants does not want to "talk" about it just yet.
Talk is cheap.

So in the meantime you can watch the results of a life that reads like a collaboration between Shakespeare and Scorsese on Taxi Driver with Sartre and Dostoevsky in charge of cinematography. And in the meantime i asked to be assigned to the brain injury unit at work. Historically this is the least requested assignment. Historically Mr. Smarty Pants usually requests these assignments. There is something comforting about misery. It has no pretense. And it's in this environment that i seem to offer the greatest benefit. Not to mention it offers great perspective. And it gives me function. Without purpose i am nothing.

"Pour your misery down on me..." Garbage.

The story is long and convoluted and occasionally i may offer more detailed insight. But in the meantime feel free to watch a descent in progress....Live on the net...for your amusement, benefit, horror, and enlightenment.