Some people never go crazy, says Charlie Bukowski. What truly horrible lives they must live.
Me, I go crazy all the time. Ask anyone. This last 7 days I have been raving. Awake all night, almost, and peering myopically through a blinding headache all day. No appetite. Just the desire for beer. This last two days I haven't even been able to work. Felt too sick and dizzy every time I went outside. So I've stayed in with the curtains drawn and watched tv all day. Let my beard grow for the first time in a year. Tried to sleep whenever I could to catch up on what I'd lost. It's been like the 1980s condensed into 48 hours.
What's it all about? I have no idea. I can't be bothered to speculate either. I've needed to die these little, temporary deaths all my life so I could survive the rest of it without choking on the nausea.
The only light in all this crazy darkness has been the positive response of an old friend who I contacted yesterday, wondering if we might be able to patch up a friendship damaged long ago. The jury is out on that, but it felt good to be emailing her. Showed that not all is madness, and destruction, and wreckage--though there was a fair bit of that in our shared past.
I'm hoping that after hiding out like a wounded animal this last couple of days I will be reborn as a human being tomorrow. I will let you know whether that happens.