  I think I've figured out that feeling I've been having for what seems like months on end - that lost car keys feeling. It's more than boredom, and slightly less than fear. I think I just feel lost. Or homesick. I've got a few goals, namely get published, and write more, and really, that ought to be enough. It isn't though. I feel as though I should be somewhere else, doing something else. God knows what. I've been thinking I need to volunteer at The Red Door (an organization that provides help and guidance to teens on sex issues), or at the SPCA, or, I dunno, do something to give back to the Valley that has become my home. Do Something Worthwhile. But I am lazy, there doesn't seem to be enough hours in the day to have an adquate sleep and then drag myself off to work, let alone cleaning out animal poo, or whatever they'd have me do at the red door. There needs to be something there, though. At least, I think so. I've also noticed during this period of self reflection that I'm a lot more scared of just about everything than I ever have been.
When Kurt and I got lost the other night, I thought I could have induced a heart attack just on the thought of being lost. What's the worst thing that could have happened? We spend a night in the car, and asked for directions in the morning. I was still scared though. THen there's the thought of being put away, because I'm just so bloody crazy. I have a deep unreasonable fear about getting pregnant. I feel, sometimes, that people are dead - friends I've not talked to for a while.
Family members. You would think this would inspire me to call everyone, but there's the added on fear that if I do contact these people, they really will be dead. Right now they're in the Schrodinger Cat Box in my head - safe, albeit static. Every car that passes by the store or our apartment is like little drops of acid on fraying nerves.
I'm more at peace with that, speeders are on my Smite list til further notice. In other words, yeah, got a reason to hate and fear speeders. But what about that other junk? Do i go to the wildly ineffective Shrink of the Valley, so he can toss more drugs at me? First impression: Hell No. But I have to concede that it's 98% likely that it's the fucking prozac working my brain into little worry knots.
So, I could go to the doctor, and get put on something else, go through 3-6 weeks of hell and shit, and deal with new exciting side effects of a brand new drug. Russian Roulette without the finality (hopefully). Maybe it'll be a cool side effect like weight loss, but most likely it will be memory problems, loss of fine motor control, dry mouth, changes in personality, thumbs rotting off... it's a gamble, basically. So is it to be the devil I know? I mean, I know I'm sick of being afraid to shower alone, and I used to love going for a long, pointless drives. New drug means new symptoms, or the slimmest of chances of no side effects at all. Worth the risk? Or should I dance with the devil I know? Maybe what I need is to go out, get dancing, be trashed for a few weekends. Put things into perspective. Have a little pub crawl, end up in a ditch or three. Be massively hung over, and regret all the silly things I said and did.
But, just as likely, it will depress me huge, and point to how silly and meaningless my life is. Thank God for Kurt, my family, (who needs to move here, damn it), my friends. My babies. They give me meaning, and the hope that I'm not going to be a wage slave forever. Man, I hope I'm talented, I'm far too lazy to survive this world of commerce. 
