getting a little stressed out over understanding some integral stuff—and so, consequently, i studied it a little over the past three days but did nothing on my actual paper. Didn’t do much today—got too stressed out; got fidgety with an itch at the back of my throat—a desire, no less, for oblivion. Now—I’d stopped taking the Lexapro altogether; so i had to be careful about getting stressed out—if it became a constant thing i might need to find another option—something that I could take instead of Lexapro, something that wouldn’t ruin my ability to have sex—and there had been some (but not enough) improvement in that area now that I’d been off it for a few days. We’ll see what happens after a week and a half or so. I guess this stuff can take a while to totally get out of your system.
yeah i’d gotten a little fast and loose with my internal narrator voice because my dad came down here and asked me to rethink what I was going to do with all my paintings, looking ahead, i think, worrying a little about money and space, and telling me to slow down a little. I explained that I didn’t want to slow down—that I wanted to catch up to everybody else—that I want to max out what i could do as a painter; he seemed to accept that. But yeah, i’d been feeling a little peace and security since having decided i could store me paintings on our property (where we had a lot of space) and suddenly he started talking about that being a bad idea because the property might sell after his death or the roof might blow off and ruin my paintings which is what got me so stressed out—after already being stressed by the math. I actually had like 4 separate bowel movements after the conversation—that’s how stressful it was.
I ended up pounding a couple Dr. Peppers—which is the closest thing to taking the edge off sobriety that I can get—and now, I ask, are you thinking: yes you might want to go back on the Lexapro? But I’d been impotent and hadn’t had a normal orgasm in like 12 years—and I didn’t want to put it off any longer—i needed to recover that aspect of myself, even if the chance to have sex never materialized. I needed that energy—and, i thought, after all this time, I can manage it better; please note that I want off the risperidone, but not off schizophrenia medication in general. I knew that I needed to, and expected to, take something to control the invasive thoughts that trouble me when I am not expressing or channeling my suffering through my creations—and my telepathic conversations. That’s not really a joke, but, at the same time, it kind of is, because I know how it sounds—as if, telepathic communications was a known thing that you could do—that anybody could understand.
Did I believe it? Well, did I believe in an afterlife? I doubted oblivion too much not to, so, yeah, it wasn’t really a joke—but it was meant to be taken as a part of my belief system, like a healthy dose of religion, not as universal fact. So, what? I just turned my portable heater off. Now my legs were getting cold—i can’t stand being cold or hot. So I turn it back on—even though its mid-April. What was Ocasio-Cortez up to? I don’t know. I don’t always speak to Ocasio-Cortez. I speak to Ursula—who might be Ocasio-Cortez—in the same way that I might be considered the father of telepathic communications—and be remembered for it. Conceit? A little—but, mark my words, we’re headed in that direction. This is something that I really think of in a more factual way—not that I’ll be considered awesome by everybody in this respect (this only recently occurred to me) but that, in point of fact, the human race would evolve in unimaginable ways over the course of the next 1000-2000 years.
I could hear her counting a little better now. The adrenaline had begun to wear off a little—i think it took a couple hours, which sounds about right. But I was anxious, shaking my knee back and forth. What was behind all this? Doing my best to ejaculate? which never happened. That probably had something to do with it. But was it making me unwell? Prone to argument? Prone to thinking, in the real world, that I am the person that exists, across time, in my private world? Sex will do that to you—make you think you’re right about things—about others—in ways that, well, you’re not. Sex makes it possible for bad people to think—I’m fine! i don’t need to see a doctor! Now i was crossing my legs—one of the great advantages of being thin, and doing my best to direct all this newfangled energy. What was Ursula doing? I was so busy that I couldn’t tell if she was trying to talk to me or not. I was trying to use her voice, but I could only really hear it behind my voice. My thinking voice—which may have been a little closer to my actual voice, but there was still a distance between them that made me think I wasn’t exactly all that I could be.
Ursula was just looking on silently, not really saying anything. i hope you crawl out of it and by “it” i think she meant discussing my Dad’s proximity to dying—pointing out that he’s 83—not exactly a desirable, even if necessary, conversation. I just hoped another conversation like that wouldn’t be immediately necessary. I know Ursula’s Dad died a while back—and she’d been forced to adapt. At least that’s what happened with Ocasio-Cortez. So what did that mean for Ursula? Well, it probably translated to something else—such as the time in Ursula’s life, in the future, perhaps, when she was dealing with or had dealt with her father’s death. Telepathic communications is not always linear. We speak to each other from different vantage points, at least, that is, when we’re not speaking to each other directly. What you did was you took a variable and made a substitution with another variable to make the computation easier.
you’re sick of me! Ursula, it turns out, was more insecure (in private) than I realized. But I thought it was cute, so no problem—unless it drove her to do things that would hurt me. I don’t know why she thought I was sick of her, unless she was reacting to the fact that I couldn’t ejaculate—that nobody, including her, could turn me on that much. If that was the case, then, well, she was just going to have to get over that—but I could help her by reminding her that I have a condition—that I’ve had a condition, for a long time before we ever became working partners. But i’d be lying if i didn’t say that I was encouraged by my progress—and also a little worried about the anxiety that I’d been feeling all morning—and the difficulty of going back to sleep after waking myself up, so to speak. Ideally I would lay off of this kind of thing in the middle of the night, since it can wake you up, so, given the fact that it wakes you up, and the fact that I can’t exactly get an erection whenever I feel like it, first thing in the morning every so often seemed reasonable. I wondered, sometimes, if my enlarged prostate had something to do with this decade long taboo—as if i needed to use it a little to keep it healthy. I wondered about that.
You’re queer! something that i couldn’t deny—and had not thought of, not since, well, i’d tortured myself for going on thirty years wondering why I was impotent so often when, alas, I tried, often enough, to have sex with women. Her fear was any woman’s fear—that she’d fall in love with someone that made her look like a fool—someone that couldn’t love her with everything they had, because, well, they wanted, deep down, to live with a man. If you’re wondering whether you’re gay or not the best question you can ask yourself is this: not “what do you think about when you think about sex,” but, rather, do you imagine yourself spending your life with a man or a woman? Indefinitely. that means more than anything else, and, if you’re in a place that you can answer that question honestly, then you shouldn’t have to torture yourself trying to figure out why or why not you get confused. If you watch pornography, for example, you get used to seeing it, as opposed to doing it, and so, well, you wind up being attracted to all of it.