Well you’ve been here a long time, and you’re going to be here a long time still  that was what i wanted, of course—to get as much out of this life as I possibly could because what we do in this life enhances our eternal life.  But that also seemed to mean that I would be on my own for a long time yet, which was fine, i guess, considering that Ursula might still be very young, or, as the case may be, unable to provide a life for us, which she’d have to do, since, as it happens, anonymity is all that i can foresee for years to come.  Does that make me angry?  It comes and goes—the people, and the civilization—that I’m surrounded by don’t live up to my expectations, and, I think, are from a different time.  A time in which white people still seem to think that they deserve better than minorities—and a time in which rich white people think that poor white people are trash.

     “What are you thinking?” I asked.  I’m thinking about gerrymandering.  I was hearing some other voice after Ursula said this (in Anna’s voice—i think they both said this, as I didn’t get the distinct impression that this came solely from Anna).  I don’t know about this voice—where it’s coming from, whether I can reproduce it or not, et cetera.  It could be Ursula’s actual voice, guess, but it was a little too random for me to replace the mechanism i was using.  I tried, for a while, to associate the voice of my Norway blond with Ursula—it’s an unknown voice that i can reproduce, but then I went back to Anna’s voice, thinking, at that time, that time apart was unnecessary.  But that wasn’t the voice I heard—anyhow, time would tell.  If i kept hearing this voice, then perhaps I was on to something new; but, for now, I thought it best to stick with Anna’s voice—the voice I’ve been using to talk to Ursula all along. 

     Nen, nen, nin, non, non, nun . . . my counting mechanism—designed to keep me in tune with the divine.  Replacing my voice—for this hour, or so—with Ursula’s voice.  But hey, I wasn’t feeling great—thinking i had a little fever, yesterday, and still, somewhat, today—after a restless night, and this feeling that Latuda somehow multiplies the effect of caffeine.  For the time being I’m Dr. Pepper free, since I’m already feeling a little jittery and weak, partly from the fever, i guess, but partly, too, as if I drank to much caffeine.  Changing medications is turning out to be kind of hairy, and I’m thinking i might go back to taking the trazadone (the sleep aid) every night—just like i was, sexual side effects be damned.  Those sexual side effects weren’t like the effect I was getting from tamsulosin, escitalopram, and risperidone, and so I figured it was worth it.  After all—let’s keep it real—I’m not married, and, even if I was, frankly, some sexual dysfunction was kind of irrelevant when compared to my overall well-being.  I wasn’t, and I might likely never be, sexually active again.

     But we’ll get there soon enough—i can’t help thinking, exhausted by these transformations, of all that i’ve been given, and all that I have to be thankful for.  Considering, too, that I choose to believe, it won’t come as a surprise, when, maybe in this life, maybe not, i’m connected with the woman of my dreams—my very own Ursula, that, as a believer, i speak to, little by little, in every way.  You might say, of late, that I’ve pushed my love to the limits—and, in so doing, i’ve driven myself down, a little, into the dumps, considering that i might never get over this impotence—this desire for something that I cannot realize in a physical way.  You might say it’s pretty fucking rough, at times, considering that I want to be ready for a potential mate—someone that could be—would be, my Ursula, if, that is, I could convince her to stay.  That I might feel excruciating desire for someone that I can’t physically express—and that, because of that, true love, in this life, cannot emerge.

     So how was falling out of love going today?  Well, i felt a little betrayed—since, for a long time, i felt that, because Anna had been engaged forever—with no date in sight, she was secretly waiting for me—her telepathic soulmate, and now, after a sufficient amount of time in which no progress had been made, I’d realized that—yes, she’s meant to be my president, and no, she’s not the right person for me.  Was i pissed at Anna, though, or was I pissed at God?  And, in fact, if i imagined my God to be a female God that appeared to me in the form of whatever woman i happened to love, was being angry at Anna the same thing as being angry at God?  I figured that, in fact, was not the case, since, for a time, although Anna might have been a representation of my God, by this time, now, she, in fact, had fallen short of that pedestal.

     I was feeling better today, although my sleep got a little restless in the early morning hours.  I chose to do nothing, or attempt to do nothing, however, with an erection that, in and of itself, showed progress, and meant, in part, that the medication changes were working.  That meant that I didn’t find myself trying to force what, frankly, had no basis.  Now could I achieve an orgasm?  Maybe; but i don’t really know; hence I can’t say that the medication change is working completely, but I can’t say that it isn’t, either, and I simply don’t know of anyone or anything that would turn me on enough to achieve what I was trying to achieve—100 percent confidence that, if i did find a suitable girlfriend, well, I’d be able to follow through—and not necessarily after great sappy feelings of love would or would not take hold.  Frankly, I wanted to backchannel in a productive way—I think it would go a long way to ease a little stigmatic loneliness that sprang, for the most part, from the realities of the anonymous life that I am forced to lead.

     Well, this feeling of mild nausea, lightheadedness and weakness, like i needed to eat something, and, also, this depression, probably had something to do with the fact that I had recently gone from taking 40mg of Latuda to 80 mg of Latuda and, according to AI, that wasn’t uncommon, and, in many cases, the symptoms go away.  At least when it came to the nausea and the lightheadedness.  So i think several things were happening—that the amount of Dr. Pepper I was drinking had become a little excessive, and that, at this time, I am drinking less, and then there was this general feeling of disgust when it came to the level of degradation that I needed to apply in order to feel desire.  So today I’d refused to ask myself, what will make me feel desire today?  Because I think i was scraping the bottom of the barrel—yes, I might have been able to achieve an erection, but doing something with it was, at this time, an entirely different matter.

    So the Riemann hypothesis was getting a little depressing because the more I looked into it the more layers I uncovered—things that I needed and wanted to know, and I realized, as I brought things to a close on this day, that I was probably going to die before I could prove that a fifth dimensional “heaven” truly existed.  That we go somewhere—or emerge from this—when we die.  I was having some doubts, i guess, which was normal for anybody, but I just didn’t consider myself to be a normal person.  That said, depression is real bitch, and, frankly, i found that i was hardly as riddled with desire as I imagined i might be once i got off the risperidone.  But maybe these things take time, i don’t know, exactly.  I think, somehow, instead of having faith that love would lead to desire, I was approaching all this from the wrong angle—that love wouldn’t come unless desire came first.  So it seemed that I was essentially getting depressed because I wasn’t experiencing any lust, which, I think, most people would consider a blessing.

     Now, I’d been recording songs, right?  And listening to my voice.  Well, my voice didn’t sound like the voice I’d been projecting as my voice—I needed to make some adjustments, and it was a little difficult, since I was so used to pronouncing the tone I was used to.  I made a little effort, however, to hear my voice, to remind me of what my voice really sounded like, which sounded more like an adult voice than the voice I’d been projecting.  Combining that voice with Ursula’s voice, if not throughout the day so much anymore, then at least for this time spent here, writing prose, was important.  You can fuck me anytime  ok—i heard that, and that was a little problematic because I don’t think that’s something she would say—at least not consciously.  Frankly, I didn’t know how to respond.  I didn’t know who I was talking to.  It couldn’t be her unless I was somehow connecting with the person that is no longer in a relationship with someone else.  So I thought about it for a minute and I figured what she was really saying was that I could think about her any time.  That I could imagine what she might be like.  Or what I might be like—considering that I was well aware: when I thought of Ursula it was like a dream; we’re often not the person we think we are; we’re often the person that is the focal point of our imagination—so she, and the things we did, were probably more about me than they were her.

     We were coming, in some ways, to the end of one road, and, as we did, we were approaching another road that, according to my bad angel, might not exist.  I was down to 1mg of risperidone and up to 80 mg of Latuda—i’d also quit the benztropine, so I was waiting to see if my involuntary mouth movements returned, which was a little difficult since I would make the movement if I was thinking about it.  But the risperidone was supposed to cause that kind of thing to a greater degree than the Latuda, so I had my hopes up.  All this left me to one prescription before going to bed—atorvastatin for cholesterol, which I might not have needed once getting off the risperidone but, well, I figured it was good to have lower cholesterol than higher cholesterol, and I don’t think it was making me impotent.