here we go again, round and round, a fresh batch unleashed by the big brain magnet, of dead fathers and former lovers, what else, and i swear i’ve written all these words before, but i could have sworn i felt settled about you even for a long time now, have not even felt when i’m writing that i’m talking to you directly anymore, on some other bullshit, but apparently the answer is no, there is still more, and all the same feelings reanimated, the feeling of intimacy, that no one has ever felt closer, that you accessed a secret part of my brain that no one has ever seen before or since, made me believe that i shared it with you, and how can you not know that we were there in dreamspace, impossible, or you do and this is my punishment, your silence, forever and ever, and the thing that i’m supposed to learn this time is, as unlikely as it seems, that you brought your friend with you, i do not know her, although she is you also, and i don’t recognise her, i’ve compartmentalised you, one part same brain, one part aloof, i don’t know, hypersexual, hello kitty inception, and i still have your book, though i guess i was never going to top little women, and the realisation once again, the shame, that i think you were afraid of me, and i wish i could go back and undo everything that might have made that so, wish i had never, charlie xoxo

. . . . in which i am on a cruise, working remotely trying to fix a bug before it gets to production . . . i am anxious to avoid its paging katya, who i think is also onboard . . . matt is also there and we talk philosophically about the design of things, he seems stuck in that phase however while i think i have a simple solution . . . the problematic part is a top-level queue constant that has been clobbered in an upgrade . . . richard is sitting across from me and seems annoyed that i am distracted with work and wasting his time . . . i go back to my room to change into something more flamboyant, maybe leopard print, while still trying to get the code to completion . . . when i come back out i am surprised to find that richard has organized a suprise party for me, and there are hundreds of people seeming to cheer me on, but i don’t know a single one of them . . . i assume they are all old flames of his, mostly older white women . . . .

only just realized the other day, after 20 years or something, that do you know how to waltz is not a waltz, it is in  time, HOWEVER, the bulk of the song is more or less the harmonic structure of the sung part - the 3 chords - played roughly evenly though smeared by delay and the brushing of symbols, almost arrhythmic but suggesting a protracted and abstract waltz, an interior waltz of the fucking mind, around the unknowable part of my experience that only you have seen, or maybe i just thought you did and you thought i did yours and maybe there’s something in that even though we were just kidding ourselves, but its sufficiently potent nonetheless to be destroying me once again

. . . . in which i find myself on the moon. there are shards of broken glass everywhere. when i decide to leave i realize i have driven there and it is going to be hard to make it back. i drive off an incline and thanks to the low gravity kind of launch into space but can’t see the earth anymore . . . i am anxious i am going in the wrong direction. i land on another place on the moon, but see there is a whole city there of people. i go into a local shop and there is a tall, slightly alien girl there and i ask if i can touch her breasts. she ignores me and explains she is trying to leave the moon but can’t. i then apologised profusely. . . .

i thought i was going to dread dad’s birthday this year but it somehow went by unceremoniously . . . lucy had talked about going to london, the imperial war museum, i’m not sure if she did but she has a lot of shit going on as the old saying goes. she’s been in the hospital with terrifying gall stone pain. on the day before kira messaged me telling me that her mum has been diagnosed with brain cancer. i offered to talk but felt like an oaf throughout. there is nothing comforting i can tell anyone who has to witness someone who is close to them die of brain cancer. maybe i did better than i thought. it just all hurts so much. but i guess not everyone has to watch someone abuse and neglect someone who is close to them who is dying of brain cancer. and lie and cheat and steal. why couldn’t it have been her. i hope i can join lucy one day when she’s doing better and we’ll all go to the imperial war museum. and maybe i’ll get a place in devon and she can stay with me and we’ll all be safe there forever.

another awful day after a night of no sleep after an evening of stabbing pains . . . it occurred to me at some point when i just couldn’t account for how bad i was feeling that maybe it could be time to go back to tms, though i’m unclear on whether i’d get medical leave for that and for how long . . . i just don’t understand my mental health anymore . . . i envy people who figured out how to stop their negative self talk and that was it for them, because i also did that and yet there’s so many other layers to it all, it’s like i slayed that part of my personality but instead of reaping any benefit i have to go on living as a ghost in their depressed world, i almost don’t notice it anymore, it’s just part of the background, that i’ve accepted that i don’t have any ambitions or goals or hopes, feel doomed all the time and have absolutely no executive function ever, just cannot do anything . . . is it going to be like this forever . . . i don’t think tms even fixed any of those things to be honest but i need to do something . . . the only other idea i have right now is bupropion which gave me some executive function back, but came at the cost of even more wrecked sleep, low level anxiety all the time, the disorienting feeling of always being stuck in a terrifying loop and yet wanting to stay there, and feeling like i might pass out or die, or have a panic attack, or actually have a panic attack . . . i guess i could also try psilocybin again but i’m also terrified of that now too with my declining physical health . . . maybe it’s a good time to find a new therapist while i still have some enthusiasm for that. i have no regrets about dawn. i just felt in the end that neither one of us believed she was helping me, or that she had grown to resent me. how quick she was to say goodbye to all that . . . she almost seemed relieved. but part of that conviction was that i must try something new, and i have to see that through while i still can i guess . . . .

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