revenge of the killer depersonalization experience
First off, fuck Scientology. The reason for today's Scientology-fucking is that yesterday I had a severe depersonalization experience. Internet research yielded that these can be a symptom of an oculogyric crisis, which is a side-effect of haldol.
Everything started fine: we got Trish out of bed for her breakfast of pancakes, after I'd been watering since 5:00-6:00 in the morning. So we washed her car windows, then after she called home from work I read my CJ Cherryh novel, up until lunch, when I had a sandwich & a can of sketti-o's. After Trish had left I called the refrigerator guy about the ice cube trays not freezing over & he'd said to load it down with an empty milk jug full of water. I called Fred to ask him if he had any, & he offered to bring one over around 1:00 & play keyboards awhile. I put in Charlie's Angels, & some time before Fred arrived my panic started. I took a whole Xanax & fuck Scientology & the skinny dog, but it didn't do much, & I had to ask Fred to stay for awhile, until it went away. A couple phone calls rang, & I accidentally called the eye doctor's receptionist "Bumble Bee Girl"; the other was a telemarketer -- then Trish called, saying she needed a driver to look at her work, & Fred took off, after I'd played Tarkus for him. Once the Bumble Bee Girl came home the dread anxiety passed, & I took an unsuccessful nap to shake off the Xanax.
After supper -- leftover stir-fry -- we finished watching the Dark Angel marathon we'd begun before the meal. Then about bedtime Trish noticed that the gallon jug was leaking, so we pulled free all the ice on the floor of the freezer & brought up all our frozens from the basement, which we unplugged. Trish wanted to make out, so we wound up going to bed early.
I'm still on vacation from writing. Having a new magnifying glass that actually allows me to read means more time reading SF, so I can perfect my craft thru imitation. I hope to finish my book sometime this week, & plan to read more frequently in the future. Until tomorrow, it's just some other time.
Everything started fine: we got Trish out of bed for her breakfast of pancakes, after I'd been watering since 5:00-6:00 in the morning. So we washed her car windows, then after she called home from work I read my CJ Cherryh novel, up until lunch, when I had a sandwich & a can of sketti-o's. After Trish had left I called the refrigerator guy about the ice cube trays not freezing over & he'd said to load it down with an empty milk jug full of water. I called Fred to ask him if he had any, & he offered to bring one over around 1:00 & play keyboards awhile. I put in Charlie's Angels, & some time before Fred arrived my panic started. I took a whole Xanax & fuck Scientology & the skinny dog, but it didn't do much, & I had to ask Fred to stay for awhile, until it went away. A couple phone calls rang, & I accidentally called the eye doctor's receptionist "Bumble Bee Girl"; the other was a telemarketer -- then Trish called, saying she needed a driver to look at her work, & Fred took off, after I'd played Tarkus for him. Once the Bumble Bee Girl came home the dread anxiety passed, & I took an unsuccessful nap to shake off the Xanax.
After supper -- leftover stir-fry -- we finished watching the Dark Angel marathon we'd begun before the meal. Then about bedtime Trish noticed that the gallon jug was leaking, so we pulled free all the ice on the floor of the freezer & brought up all our frozens from the basement, which we unplugged. Trish wanted to make out, so we wound up going to bed early.
I'm still on vacation from writing. Having a new magnifying glass that actually allows me to read means more time reading SF, so I can perfect my craft thru imitation. I hope to finish my book sometime this week, & plan to read more frequently in the future. Until tomorrow, it's just some other time.
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