Cleanse and Heal Thy Psyche if You Dare

Well, I did it. I created a new blog. Just like someone, out there, is creating a baby, a new hair care product, or, in the case of the United States, attempting to bring back that elusive thing known as democracy. Not that it's ever been liberty and justice for all, mind you, but anything is better than the Bush administration. God knows anything is better. I'd take aliens from outer space at this point, and we have many more bloody months to go. Let's hope that they aren't bloody, but fruitful and uplifting. Any new energy is good at this point methinks.

So life goes on. Lately am dealing with a deeply driven disappointment in the human race in general and the usual torture that is the Piscean legacy. We inherit the psychic crap of the universe, apparently. Next incarnation I'll return as an Aries and tear up the turf. At present I simply lust for an Aries; he's married with three kids, but I pretend his wife has had a particularly galling scuba diving accident. Ah, I never said I was kind. Seriously, all of my crushes go nowhere, but maybe I don't think I deserve a relationship. That's what a Psychobabblist would say if I paid 'em good money. I say, please leave me in peace, then bemoan the general impatience, rudeness, and insensitivity of this age. Where did love go, anyway? Did we ever have it? Can we bring about Dorothy Day's revolution of the heart? Will anyone ever read this blog besides some bored tech type at blogger.com?

Ah, questions with no answers. Gotta love 'em, right God? God gets a lot of questions; he's the Q&A man, but the answers seem...nebulous, at best. Or so it seems to me.

I'm rereading Margaret Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale and trying not to let the new case manager at my residential living program (or whatever the fuck they like to call this fucked up place) get to me. She is kind of like crystal light; sweet at first but then maybe not so good for you. I go to many fruitless appointments, and today paid six dollars for cranberry juice and never even noticed. Tres scary, eh what? I'm also annoyed with about fifty people but that's OK, that's just the way it goes. I'm just having a hard time balancing my needs with someone else's. Ah, more psychobabble! How can we ever be sure the words coming out of our mouths are our own? I need to find mine, that's for sure.

I also need cheaper cranberry juice, some good lovin', and maybe a new place to live away from incredibly difficult endless and incredibly annoying dsyfunction. Did I say "incredibly" enough? Great word, actually; one that gives off almost palpable sparks.

Tomorrow is another day. I am still alive. The world is a vampire, set to drain, and certain men may never love me but somewhere is someone for everyone, or so they say.

You ain't nothing but a hound dog...crying all the time.