I was going to start this entry with some crap about this dream I had last night where some guy stuck his latex-covered toe up my ass (god, don't ask), but I have got WAY more interesting news:

I just made fun of Donny Osmond.

No no, I mean, to his face (everything else is shooting fish in barrels). He was here, in the lobby of my building! And he was waiting for his entourage to accompany him to the radio station! He did that Donny Osmond-winky-smile-nod thing, and I told him "Wow, you were great on Fox's Celebrity Boxing--oh wait! That was a different washed up child star." and headed to the elevator.

Oof, that was just mean, wasn't it. But who could resist the chance?

Olfactory weirdness: Standing in the kitchen at work, making tea and vaguely eavesdropping on two coworkers bitching about a third. My hand dips the bag up and down in hot water as coffee pours into a carafe in front of me. All I can smell is coffee. Dazedly walk back to my desk, and as I'm taking my first sip of tea, all I can taste is coffee.

...

Yeah, so I'm going back to therapy for the first time in several years (it's about time! you all say). I figured enough baggage had piled up to justify a visit or six. It's got me nervous, though--what if I start talking about my secret insecurities and fears and I never stop? What if I tell her about how I think I'm slowly going crazy--and it turns out that I really am?

What if I stopped asking questions? Too many what-ifs.

We burn our boats each new year
Silently watching the flames
And an old life disappear
We're burning a new sunrise
Into yesterday's skies

We're doing fine now, yeah we do
We don't feel sad or bad or blue
And you know we're never
Defeated or broken inside

Today is one of those days where I feel completely broken. I think perhaps I should be getting more sleep--five hours a night is NOT enough. I've been falling asleep around midnight, 1230 maybe? and then waking up at 5am. I try to fall asleep again, curl into Boy and close my eyes...but nothing works! Too awake to fall asleep, too tired to get up and be productive.

Drugs are the only answer. I'll just start taking the Vicodin again.

Speaking of drugs, someone (I can't remember who, and even if I did remember, I'd probably keep my mouth shut) told me last week that I should probably take more drugs. I'm not sure if they just thought it was an experience thing, or if they thought I could use a little relaxing, but either one is possible. I mean, I'd hate to die without ever having experienced the joy of heroin.