Moving the House - Tourette's Style

A scratching on the door interrupts me just as I'm about to write (not strictly true, as I have no idea what I'm about to type - the past day was only mildly interesting: an eye appointment, a bunch of kava drunk, a strange dream about saving a mouse that turns into a small dog, TV watched and ignored, Indian food consumed - none of it seems worthy). I open the door to the bedroom where I've exiled myself while Katie tears apart the house in a process that is as much about mental health as it is about interior decoration, and explain the nature of my dilemma to her.

"If you need inspiration, I could use your help doing some little stuff before we have to move the big pieces," she says. When I demur, she picks up the rug and recommences dragging it down the hall, shouting, "Dicks!"

10-29-10 Some things you have to pay for after you've already used them

"Come on," she says, this strange girl whose constant, scattershot flirtation is starting to get me down. "You don't like to smoke?"

What do I say, that I really DO like to smoke, but that it inevitably leaves me feeling worse than before, lost and anxious, like I've got a bucket over my head and a hole in my chest?

"No, I like it, but it costs too much," I say, and leave it at that.

5-17-08 "Awesome!"

Riding bikes in the park on a gorgeous, blue-sky Saturday, we rest for a minute beside a sun-dappled lake speckled with swans and ducks.

"Sometimes, on days like this," I say, watching a rust and white colored dog named Rufus splash around scaring the ducks, "I love everybody so much I can't stand it."

"Well, on a day like this," Katie replies, "everyone has good intentions. Even the guy buying coke thinks to himself, 'Hey, it's a beautiful day, I'm gonna see my friend Dave and buy some coke. Awesome!'"