Some people cope well with it, but sadly, those people also laugh in the face of pressure, or smoke way too much marijuana so are out of touch with reality, or are more loosely strung than a hemp shirt in Jamaica. I'm not.
Another morning of tossing and turning at 5:00am, wondering what the fuck to do with myself. I could get up and work like I did yesterday, but this is unfeasible.
I know I'm not coping when I awake every morning before dawn to toss and turn and worry and worry and worry and be neurotic and worry some more and the thoughts in my kopfel don't stop going round and round and endless doomsday images of being homeless and jobless, and... are my thighs fat?
I know I ate all the pies, but that won't help me when I'm living under a bush with a trolley and soaking my meths through Albany. Oh God. The pressure.
I fucking hate pragmatism. Especially if it's my own. It's one thing being an insomniac, but it's shittier waking up and not being able to go back to sleep, and schvitzing in your own sweat patches with so many thoughts cruising round your head you really just don't know what The. Fuck. To. Do. With. Yourself.
There's something wrong with me at the moment. Perhaps I have been listening to too much techno music. Yes, that's got to be it.
Running around wired and not being able to do much about nothing. Maybe I have Attention Deficit Disorder? (But do people just get that at my age?) Maybe I'm truly going a bit Twelve Monkeys.
Like, I can't concentrate, focus on anything. I have reason to stress; I may be homeless and jobless by October. Yeah yeah, yeah and worrying doesn't help, but what to do? Nothing poignant or deep is emerging from my noggin either. It's all just millions of 'What if's?' What the hell is going on? I'm panicked.
Somebody just turn me off. Put a switch on me.
I need something. And that just might be Calmettes.