dostoevsky: This One is An Unusual Suspect

I am wearing my Savage X Fenty therapy shirt. I am in a basement. I did not think earlier when putting it on about being in my therapy shirt; it is my shirt for encouraging my friends with different abilities that they are sexy, too—aesthetically so.

But as I got to Caribou, listening to my Grimes Art Angels album, I realized I was in therapy with myself in my head. I was trying to feel good. I was trying to be quiet from the noise. I was trying to be healthy.

My friends and I are trying to figure out why we are all sick.

I did not consent to this, whatever this sick is. I feel like someone is performing an experiment on me. I don’t know if it would help to keep track of day the alterations in my mind/body happen (fatigue, mainly). It’s not everyday. It feels like I’m being drugged. I want to keep track to see if it has anything to do with my meds or mental health. I’m not sure that it does since there have not been any real changes in the factors affecting these two things in awhile, other than that there is more sunshine.

I feel hot.

Maybe it is just the weather.

It’s just so peculiar that I had to replace a dog leash that went missing.

My bedroom is still messy, though. It could be there.

Maybe I am actually sick.

Would they tell me if I was sick?

People have all these weird and interesting sayings like ‘decluttering your house helps declutter your mind’ and ‘don’t let anyone live rent free in your mind.’

I woke up in my briefs. I think I slept in my briefs. It was a little unsettling. But I remember getting up to eat a bunch of chocolate au pains because I was hungry. I got up every hour or so afterward and smoked a cigarette.

I’m still a little concerned that someone might be breaking in since I found my pillow on the floor where the dog lays, but I have not seen anybody.

I’m smoking cigarettes today. It reminds me of back in TN, but that is not why I am doing it. I am doing it because my car is broke and cigar shops are too far to walk. I don’t know how many cars or car problems I have had and phone problems. It’s unfortunate because I chainsmoke like a motherfucker, and it is really bad for my health.

I think as long as I can think and talk about stuff other than tobacco it’ll be okay. That was the fascinating thing about my cigar/pipe habit; it consumed a lot of time, money, and attention. I would never have been able to write this much with a cigar.

I don’t know if I should keep time stamp entries to keep track of how long it takes me to write as I often do with texts to make sure or to see how much time is passing. I’m not sure why it is important for me to know that I am not losing time, or what human being's obsessions is with time. I think for many it is the fear of missing out; they want to be in so many places at once that they can hardly be in one place at all.

For me, it is wanting to know that I am not missing moments in this space and time.

I do not know what kind of birds those are that sing in the trees, but when you can hear them on a summer’s day, against the drilling of construction, the honking of locking cars, the sirens,

oh, I forget now. my neighbor was walking her dog. And spoke to her dog, “come on, dude.”

and in that moment you know you are in a place.

I’m at the casino

I’m taking a bus

I’m smoking a cigarette

I’m drinking a ginger ale

It’s hot

It’s so godawful hot

I don’t know why I keep burning up at work

The ac keeps the place cool

I walked to the bus stop in this godawful

heat

The buses are hard to find out here

if you don’t know where to look

I took a gamble on the ginger ale