...another manic Sunday
Well, I may technically be manic-depressive, & my attitude's like, fuck Scientology, I'm taking my pills, but I'm not really manic today. Nor am I depressed. I'm right in the middle, which may or may not be a good thing. I'd kind of like to be hypomanic again. I need U-boat, which the change is sure to come from. Jon Tester supports medical marijuana (yay!) (& the Scooby Club can all go take a walk), so within a year I should have my license to smoke dope -- if I can con Dr. Boes into writing up a 'script. My writing has always been dependent on new chemicals. the acid burned my brain; but real atomic submarines aside, do I have the Abilify to carry on? Certainly. That's 'cause Scientology & the Scooby Club (Narcoholics Numinous) are full of shit.
So this Sunday I'm not really expecting to do much. I'm on a temporary hiatus from writing, until Ted finishes the romance/re-make/re-model of "Movement & Repose", but I may send off some email today, or write some snail-mail, as I have stamps now. Fred will be over around 1:30 to jam. Yesterday, I worked out the harmony parts for Light My Fire, a real kind of jazzy Rasta cigar song (I should practice it to a reggae beat).
Also yesterday, the cold weather brought in few customers to Pizza Hut, so, to my surprise, Trish called about 2:00 & said she could come home -- & with minimal conflict with Bridget.
Once back here, Trish & I ate the vegetables that she'd picked up at work, then prepared for church -- did I say Hope's converting to Catholicism? Anyway, once Trish came out of the shower, we ate our leftover sketti so we could make it to the 5:00 Mass.
The sermon made Trish paranoid, though. I'm not certain what was the matter. I guess the visiting priest set something off by asking for money for some charity, & he kept mentioning "Hope".
When we arrived home, I started channel surfing while Trish did the laundry. We just watched Alien: Resurrection on Starz & then Miss Congeniality on TBS, before bedtime. Unfortunately, she didn't influence me, not even exasperation of VADIS. Kimothy is trying to influence me, but withdrawing from her a month ago has brought her to not-visiting, & it should probably stay that way. The only woman who should influence me is my wife. This really excludes the Vast Active Destructive Intelligence System, who declared her hatred of me after a drunken frat party, sicked Alfalfa High on me, & had them maliciously con me into drinking inordinate amounts of liquor -- vodka -- after I ate 4 hits of acid. This destabilized me, not the atomic submarines, & I met a black hooker, & she helped more than the Kentuckified VADIS ever did.
Oh, & I may go to El Taco Loco for lunch.
So this Sunday I'm not really expecting to do much. I'm on a temporary hiatus from writing, until Ted finishes the romance/re-make/re-model of "Movement & Repose", but I may send off some email today, or write some snail-mail, as I have stamps now. Fred will be over around 1:30 to jam. Yesterday, I worked out the harmony parts for Light My Fire, a real kind of jazzy Rasta cigar song (I should practice it to a reggae beat).
Also yesterday, the cold weather brought in few customers to Pizza Hut, so, to my surprise, Trish called about 2:00 & said she could come home -- & with minimal conflict with Bridget.
Once back here, Trish & I ate the vegetables that she'd picked up at work, then prepared for church -- did I say Hope's converting to Catholicism? Anyway, once Trish came out of the shower, we ate our leftover sketti so we could make it to the 5:00 Mass.
The sermon made Trish paranoid, though. I'm not certain what was the matter. I guess the visiting priest set something off by asking for money for some charity, & he kept mentioning "Hope".
When we arrived home, I started channel surfing while Trish did the laundry. We just watched Alien: Resurrection on Starz & then Miss Congeniality on TBS, before bedtime. Unfortunately, she didn't influence me, not even exasperation of VADIS. Kimothy is trying to influence me, but withdrawing from her a month ago has brought her to not-visiting, & it should probably stay that way. The only woman who should influence me is my wife. This really excludes the Vast Active Destructive Intelligence System, who declared her hatred of me after a drunken frat party, sicked Alfalfa High on me, & had them maliciously con me into drinking inordinate amounts of liquor -- vodka -- after I ate 4 hits of acid. This destabilized me, not the atomic submarines, & I met a black hooker, & she helped more than the Kentuckified VADIS ever did.
Oh, & I may go to El Taco Loco for lunch.
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