I didn't go to AA today as I'd planned to. I wanted to keep my momentum on the work I was doing. It feels like I had an evenly balanced choice. I mean, a witch weighs as much as a duck. Each choice had an upside and a downside, coming out about the same. But I'm so behind in work. And if I really wanted to go to other meetings, there are plenty, every day, all times of day. There are even meetings online. (Hmm. I need to look into that, actually.) I just really like that one.
There is an AA center pretty close to where I live, and they offer women-only and gay-friendly meetings along with other kinds; but I don't like the room. That sounds picky, but it's drab and depressing, with cinderblock walls, and they keep the overhead lights turned off, so it's really dark. They also don't sit in a circle--two women always sit up on a raised platform like lecturers to run the meeting, apart from everyone else. It makes me pissy to go there. Which sucks, because it's really the most convenient place.
I've been taking Adderall again to focus at work. Not every day, but I've taken it maybe 5-6 times during the last two weeks. I know I shouldn't, because of the blood pressure issue, but when work gets rocky and I feel like I'm going under, it's so helpful, far beyond anything else--mostly because it's immediate. I mean, duh. Amphetamine. I talked to Psych Guy about it. I said I knew it probably wasn't usual practice to take it on an as-needed basis, but if he was okay with prescribing it on those terms, I'd like to continue to have it available for occasional use. And he was okay with it. My GP would kill me with his kindly eyes if he knew though.
I worked all day today--straight through, not really stopping, except for the ratlike lever-pressing pellet-addiction of refreshing LJ constantly. And now I'm still sitting here in my cubicle, refreshing LJ and e-mail in a vacant-eyed way. I'm so bored lately--I haven't really stressed that in my posts, but it's this underlying emoscape of beige blah--and I'm getting fed up with my apartment and my DVD-VCR. And yet I still don't want to go to the gym.
When I idly google-imaged "monochrome" just now (this is what I *do* with my life) I found this photographer's Web site. I love the Internet. It tries to give me what I fail to give myself.
OMG I AM SO DEEP!
So deep that I must write poetry.
Poem for a November Tuesday, 6:29 p.m.
"Orbes volantes exstare!"
It is night, now I will go.
There is a bus waiting for me,
as there is for all of us. But mine
is the 545, and nicer than yours.
People board, people bored--do they germinate?
I mean, do they have germs? Right now? Are they sitting
A man sings, a woman laughs, talk rises like champagne bubbles, higher, lighter--
SHUT THE HELL UP.
The loons are flying. There is a tangerine on my desk,
and The Chicago Manual of Style. Peanut butter, bobby pins, a
phone--I will list everything. CDs, a nail file, a Tornado pen.
No, really, everything. Napkins, a pair of scissors, my checkbook--
oh never mind.
I will never rise from this chair, I will never rise.
Like bread or a soul ascending to heaven, never.
I was just being facetious there, by the way.
I don't really believe in heaven.
I can also write better poems than this.
But you can't see them!
You might steal them!
And sell them for, god, I don't know--a dollar, maybe!
Maybe even a contributor's copy!
The life of a poet is like a tangerine.
Oblate, with a porous rind.
I'm hungry now, and so
this poem is over.