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4:02 p.m. - 2001-10-05 My brain is turning on me again. In the last three weeks I have slowly evolved into a paranoid freak. Let me explain. Work dried up for me temporarily due to some boring circumstances that don't warrant detail. Normally It would matter to me, but thanks to a surprising and uncharacteristic streak of saving recently, I have yet to face any hardcore ramifications due to lack of income. That, and my newly developed, and quickly approaching unhealthy, relationship with the internet has kept me from caring about my unemployment for the short term, what with the clickity-clack, scrollity-scroll, etc. Fortunately, work has been scheduled to begin again Monday, and not a moment too soon. It seems my reality has slowly melted into this very keyboard, and I have lost my perspective and footing in the physical world. The beginning of the end, it seems, was the addition of a site-meter to my humble little journal page. Suddenly I had the power to see who was visiting and how often. This changed my whole writing experience. Don't get me wrong, I always had wanted to be read, but now I had the tool to turn that desire into an obsession. What if this was as good as it got? What if healthy cigarettes and deviant virgins were the cream of the crop and they were only to be buried under subsequent boring muck? I must stay funny. I must write every entry as if it is the only chance I have to hook a net surfer, and make them fall in love with my children. Yes, my children. I even have their pictures in my wallet. Look, here's little Supercute, he was one of my first you know. I love them kids, and my love turned me into a stage parent, pimping them like so many little Macaully Caulkins. I went from e-mailing individual journalists, to writing public compliments/advertisements in their guestbooks, to�to begging for hits via a Diarist .net message board. I became an attention whore in mad, desperate search of validation of my offspring. Love them, please love them� Thankfully, heaven sent a message to me , a slap in the face that woke me from this nightmare I was creating for myself, and used my own mounting paranoid and self-centered state of mind to shake me back into the realm of the living. Man, I was getting paranoid too. Not just of being called on my hit slut frenzy either. Janey went to the doctor yesterday because of a bad case of the flu. Both the doctor that she works for, and the doctor who saw her at the hospital said that hers was the first case of the flu they've heard about this season. That, coupled with the blitz of media noise and my monitor zombie state of mind allowed me to completely convince myself that she is the second case of anthrax following that man in Florida. I mean convince. Not only that, I woke up with the crazy delusion that someone was switching between knocking on our front door and trying to open it for a good twenty minutes straight while Jane and I lay in bed. Oh, wait. That was real. Jane's mother decided to come by and visit unannounced, and Jane refused to open the door for her on principal, figuring she would get the hint and leave. Well she did, after twenty full minutes of banging, rattling the doorknob and shouting her presence to us and the rest of the building. That was twenty minutes of us laying in bed, speaking only in whispers and listening intently for signs that she had somehow obtained a key from the neighbors and was on the verge of barging in at any second. If you've ever seen The Shining, think of the tension before the famous "here's Johnny!" scene. Now double it. So between anthrax scares, falsely accusing some poor soul of dissing me for something that truly deserved a diss, and the terror of having Mrs.Ancheta bust in to our apartment whilst I lay nekkid in bed with her daughter, I'm a fucking wreck. I never thought I'd say it, but I can't wait to get back to work. I think I need a good dose of reality again. Let's go see what's on the T.V.
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