Some photos I’d like to share

First of all, who said you can’t name streets after therapists?
Goldie St



A funny phone booth

Pepsi Phone booth

I love this one.  I don’t know what to title it.  I keep thinking of the time QB barked at the traffic cone.  Here are two for him to bark at.  Puzzle didn’t even notice them.  They look like soldiers standing at attention over the rubble.

2 cones

Have a nice evening!

Plan B

I made up my mind that I will somehow get to my therapy appointment tomorrow, and if I don’t have the ability to get there, I will go into the hospital.  That is, if I am too confused to get on the bus, or too depressed to get out of bed, or too paralyzed to be able to put one foot in front of the other and walk at a normal pace.

If I show up, then that is an accomplishment.  On the way over, I’ll mail my assignment to my advisor.

If I have to go into the hospital, Plan B goes into effect.

It occurs to me that first of all I don’t have a Plan B.

Secondly, I don’t even have a Plan A.

I don’t remember last night.  I talked to my therapist at 9.  I went to bed at midnight.  I slept in my clothes and told myself I could not go on any longer.  I have gone on into today.  It is nearly evening.  I cannot bear to endure any more.

In a little while, I will turn off the air conditioner and try to coordinate my two brains.  Yes, I have two.  One is writing these words.  The other is my real brain, which is very confused and has Evil in it.  The writing brain keeps ticking, the way one’s heart is a second center of the body, separate from the brain.  I can take my second brain, the writing brain, out of my body and hold it at arm’s length away from me and watch it tick.

Puzzle will have to be very, very quiet.


I will show up for my appointment tomorrow.

I will show up for my appointment tomorrow.

I will show up for my appointment tomorrow.

If I don’t, I may have to go to the hospital.  That is the feeling I am getting.  A trip to the hospital would royally fuck up my life and Puzzle’s life too.

The police called yesterday asking for money for the Police Association.  I thought they were calling because they were after me.

Penny candy.

I need to write that process letter, but my thoughts are so scrambled.

Do you know what it’s like to have scrambled thoughts?  Trust me, “normals” have no clue.  It is not something that “normals” ever, ever experience.  It’s not just confusion or anxiety or fear.  When one’s thoughts are scrambled it’s like putting ketchup in the if.  Or get dump river of long reaction dove.


I’m rather myopic myself.

I keep wondering if I should call my brother, or non-brother as he very well may be, and try to work out a Plan B.

Every woman should have a Plan B.

Meltdown Tuesday

I’ve been very confused.

Thoughts jumbled.

My intention was to write my process letter for school, but I can barely think.

My words come out like blocks.  I can see them move from brain to mouth then from mouth back to brain then to arms and fingertips and keyboard.  There is something very unnatural, something too mechanical about these blocks.

Thoughts shouldn’t clunk.  They should flow along.  One shouldn’t be conscious of their movement.

I can feel them move and I am aware of their travels in my body.