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Paranoia will destroia

The paranoia from last night has not abated; indeed, it has grown into a sort of dread, an anticipation of something bad happening.

WHy am I telling you this? Because some rational part of my brain that remains knows that this is an abberation, that it's a perceptive problem in my own mind, and that I need to write it down for posterity. Besides, writing helps.

I am concerned with both the suddenness with which this came on and the severity with which it sits upon my head like an invisible, evil duck. I am concerned that I might be sitting way too close to the edge of insanity, paddling the memes of schizophrenia. I say this here and now because if I continue deeper into paranoia, I will likely start holding things back so you can't use what I say against me.

I have had the worry of schizophrenia for a long time. Not in a big way, but in that back-of-the-mind sort of way. I don't have audible voices in my head telling me things, at least not yet, and my sense of reality is a relatively concrete one for all of the pharmaceutical experimentation that I did during the Reagan years, but I have had a few episodes of blurred reality (great name for a visual effects production company), and the voices in my head that do a lot of screaming are my own.

On reflection, the times of tenuous reality have been during peak stress. And I think this part of my life certainly qualifies as stressful; probably not the most stressful time, but certainly prolonged a lot more than I'd like.

(And yes guys, this does speak well of selling the Big Broken Box™ and getting the fuck out sooner rather than later. It is not the deciding factor, but it is one more straw for the camel.)

Look, I know that it might seem... well, paranoid, and maybe a bit silly. But remember, you are coming to the table from a much different place than I am, and I don't have the luxury of objectivity.


Speaking of the Box, I currently have three irons in the fire:

1.) Homevestors coming tonight to look at the place in an appraisal fashion. It's not a full appraisal, more of a look at what needs to be repaired and how that would affect the value.

2.) A refinance through a different lender, with two different options: interest-only or ARM (neither of which is appealing) that would get Barb off of responsibility for the loan.

3.) Home-equity loan, $10,000 at either 5 years or 7 years at around 10.5-10.75% interest (looking the best right now) through the credit union. Payments less than a car payment, and within the scope of what I would be looking at as a house payment with a refi. Money used for a new roof and finishing on the front porch, which are the major external repairs.

None of these is something that will come to fruition in the next two weeks, so I'm still a bit freakish about that whole spending money thing, and I don't want to make any decisions until I'm past the tax panic.


Noodling about dating and romance and what that means to me in paranoialand, whether I am destined to be the equivalent of the crazy old cat lady from The Simpsons, but with marmots instead of cats.



There's a lot more depth than I care to go into. My sense of brokenness is pretty freakin' heavy right now, with the big word FAILURE carved into my bloody forehead with the blunt end of a fork. I know the imagery is not real, but it jumps out at me from behind corners pretty regularly. With the studio down, I see every aspect of my life as being damaged in a pretty major way.

Yet I know people who are worse off than I am who have pretty steady relationships. Are these just relationships that they got into before the bad times hit, and they take solace from the relationship? Or do they stay together out of fear, from the sense that it's better to be with someone rather than risk being alone?

If I get involved with someone, I want it to be worth something. I want something lasting. I want a good friend, confidant, lover, admirer. I don't want works-for-now-until-something-better-comes-along to be part of my vocabulary.

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