Woke up late the past two days, around eleven or twelve. I've been taking 3 5-htps every day now, as well as an Ativan before bed. A beer with an Ativan make for an enjoyable perk to my day, but it will be unfortunate when I run out of them.
Today I went into the woods and played in the stream, I then had church for several hours in the evening. Everybody's feet were washed, and we have church again tomorrow night. Saturday night, Sunday too. I took an Ativan and drank a beer, took a bath. I ate a calzone I baked, because the dough wouldn't stretch right for a pizza.
Living in this junk heap of a town could make me a chain smoker, give me some real black lungs. But for that reason I don't buy cigarettes, I just wait. I'm waiting to leave again, because being here I've found no purpose, not any great satisfaction. Staying here, I feel I'm taking steps into the legs of my shadow, straying always from the better things, always from the sun. And there are times when I reach a wall, and am face to face with my shadow, and the gaze raises an unhappy heart from within.
Wrote a poem about great dreams, dark dreams, and our bizarre dreams.
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