I'm interrupted most of the time by the constant chatter of a self-recriminating critic. That's a crusty old man lodged in my head, and unless I'm really motivated, happy, or into something, I get easily sidetracked. I watched two movies, Nobody and Lucy, on my friend's Netflix.
I haven't been to a movie theater since 2014, and these are the first two movies in a long time that could hold me in uninterrupted thrall. When I'm off my meds, it's like that Lucy girl. It's like I have to keep myself drugged to keep me at a level where I don't fly off. My brain isn't normal; it's a fuming pot of all sorts of blurry juxtapositions of curvaceous ideas that often won't make sense to people who are sane. I can't pretend to know how other brains are, but it's sort of like the brain they depict in movies, where you're manic but not stark raving mad and without the graphics.
And recently, it's been this gnawing cavity pain that waxes and wanes and sometimes throbs with my pulse. I went to the dentist, and he gave me a laundry list of expensive procedures that I could not afford. I ordered some zinc oxide, and I'll try to get that filled myself. The thing with my poverty is that I don't "talk" poor, and if I claim I can't afford one expensive dental treatment, he proceeds to show me something more expensive.
My dental x-ray shows I do look like an evil skull inside. I'm rotten, and something's rotting the bones, and it comes out in the x-ray. I'll be an evil poltergeist when I'm dead. The people who've engineered a slippery and steeper hypotenuse in the past or who intend to keep fondling my aspirational balls in the future better take a look at that skull and think twice. If I ain't a good candidate for an afterlife with a spine-chilling end, I can't imagine who is.
