Well, several keys on my computer quit working, suddenly, and I had to get a new computer—which threw me way off for a couple days. The night before last I didn’t sleep more than about forty five minutes, if I was ever actually asleep. The next day I spent a great amount of time on getting my new computer ready for me to use, and, finally, yesterday, having had only two cups of coffee and one Dr. Pepper, I slept most of the night. Now I was back at my computer, having decided to get off it around 4:30 or even 4:00, and watch TV until 10:00 or so, and read for thirty minutes or so, which left me with about nine and a half hours of sleep—if I got to sleep, and slept alright, which, at this time, wasn’t guaranteed. My neck injury was a real problem, so my Dad had given me a narrow table I could put beside my chair for using my mouse that was about six inches lower than the table my computer was on, which meant I wouldn’t have to put my neck and shoulder in such an awkward position when scrolling or otherwise using my mouse. I could still feel it, now, as I typed, but I was doing everything I could, and the combination of making a more deliberate effort to keep my neck and shoulders relaxed, quitting earlier in the day, and using the new table, had to work. I didn’t see why it wouldn’t.
My teeth, according to my dentist, are ground beyond my years—and I learned, today, that risperidone can cause you to grind your teeth, so, considering that I already might’ve grinded my teeth, risperidone, over a decade, probably damaged my teeth. I’d worn a night guard now, for about a year, since my dentist told me I could be in danger of losing teeth—but I have no cracks in my teeth, and I have no gum disease, and I think he was just trying to scare me. Anyhow, wearing the nightguard is awkward, I don’t like it, and it seems, sometimes, to give me a little bit of a headache—not to mention it raises a barrier between me and my imaginary partner—at least in the sense that, for a moment, before sex, I would have to stop what I’m doing, take it out, and swallow all that excess spit, which was gross. So I asked AI if you could keep your teeth for the rest of your life if they were worn, and even if you continued to grind them a little, and it said that you could. It wasn’t a guarantee, but, considering that I’m almost off the risperidone completely, and Latuda is not known to cause you to grind your teeth, I have pretty much made up my mind to go back to sleeping without my mouthpiece, or, at least, to give that a try, and see how it feels, both physically and mentally.
It was after 10:00. I kind of wanted another coffee but I thought, given the difficulty I was having sleeping, I should probably quit drinking coffee by 10:00 or so. I wasn’t ready to switch to soda pop, as the soda pop put me in a slightly different mindset, so I heated up some peppermint tea with milk and a small amount of honey. Hopefully this would allow me to extend my zen morning for a little longer—the zen morning I tried to engage while drinking coffee. So mainly right now I was happy about getting some sleep last night—and setting up my new table that was supposed to help my neck. I even thought, with the new table, once my neck finally heals, perhaps I can go back to writing music without fear of getting injured again. But I won’t get ahead of myself—my injury is ongoing, and real. I don’t know how long a pinched nerve will last—perhaps with my adjustments it would heal in a couple weeks—or perhaps it was like a little sciatica I had once—that lasted, if I remember correctly, about a year and a half.
So here I was, choosing to focus on what I have, and what I can do for myself in the present, as opposed to focusing on what I don’t have, i.e., a woman, or any hope of a sexual relationship, with a woman or a man. Anyhow, once you’ve been with someone long enough, I know it’s not the same, but an orgasm is an orgasm, physically, and that’s not something I’d denied just because I have no partner. I can dream up any partner—I’m just missing the feedback, which is one hell of a lot, but my point is that once you’ve been with someone for a while, and you know how they feel about you, you are no longer surprised when they love you—you are reinforced and encouraged—which, of course, I want, but what I mean to say is that familiarity with myself and familiarity with another person might lead to orgasms that aren’t necessarily that different. You just miss out on the feeling in your heart—and the feeling of power and conquest and satisfaction—but I get some variation of that through my work, even if it goes unnoticed.
I’d lost about two pounds, which put me around 169, which was shy of 167, which is what I was going for, as a compromise between 163 and 170, considering the fact that I’m a little hungrier than I used to be, throughout the day. I’ve even been feeling a little jittery and weak, in part, I think, from having eaten a little lunch for a while, getting up past 171, and stopping all eating throughout the day. The jitteriness and weakness was too much, so I’d taken to eating some peanut butter crackers and cashews, when feeling weak, and I hadn’t gained anything back, which made me feel good, as the jitteriness was a problem, and I still wanted to eat a good sized dinner, until I was completely full, at the end of the day. So I figured I would have some cottage cheese and cashews or peanut butter crackers, today, shy of a whole sandwich, I know, but, hopefully, enough to get me down to 167 and also make me feel better throughout the day. I’d gone many years without eating anything during the day before, and I don’t know why, exactly, I was getting jittery, weak, and hungry, now, but I was—maybe it was getting older, or maybe I was just more aware, now, of my body, and what it needs. In the past I could have been removed, a little, from my true self, and living under some false notion that I’m better, or will be better, in the future, than I am. But I think accepting that I probably won’t be the greatest artist that ever lived, and that, no matter what I do, I probably won’t secure a beautiful woman, has made me realize that nothing, including my hunger, is really going to change—and, hence, this hunger, that might’ve been interpreted, in the past, as an indication that I am going somewhere, and, as such, been transformed into something else, now seemed, essentially, to just be hunger, like anybody else feels. Now that I was no longer going to be the greatest artist that ever lived, and I wasn’t going toward love and fame, I was basically just like everybody else—in need of a snack, during the day.
So it seemed that all these changes that were taking place were a function of accepting, and coming to terms with that fact that, one, I probably wasn’t going to be the greatest artist that ever lived no matter what, and, two, I was going to lose some people, and be judged, as I become a little more open about, and real about, my sexuality, and all that it entails—i.e. a desire for both a partner and a sex life that involved other people. The two things, in fact, seemed to go together hand in hand. In fact, the way this seemed to play out was that, first, my sexual desires, in their various forms, such as really dressing up as a woman, for example, or really being involved, with my partner, in some various, seemingly degrading, life changing orgy that would lead to judgment for the both of us, came bubbling to the surface, and manifested themselves in my writing, which I posted on social media, making it public to both known and unknown persons, which is what made the idea of losing people, and being judged, real, as if I was actually doing these things, and then, after that, as I relaxed into it, came the real shift—this notion that I probably will not be the greatest artist that ever lived no matter what I do—and nothing whatsoever was going to change the fact that, figuratively, anyhow, I was, and always would be, a little hungry, and yearning for something divine, no matter what changed, for me, in this life, and, possibly, even in the next life, I still might feel a yearning for something that was, at least for a time being, entirely unattainable.