October 9, 2006: red light hunting, originally uploaded by the wilderness.

At TheNervousBreakdown, of course.

For the rest of the afternoon, I should be seated in a windowless office in Philadelphia with nauseating fluorescent lights that buzz louder than maggot-infested roadkill.

This place makes me appreciate windows, enough so that I take breaks, wander to the bleak stairwell, and look through the one window there that can never be opened.

My office mate, J., should also be seated in this office all afternoon, where our predecessors sketched on the wall above our desks a ballpoint window with a shaky, though accurate, view of the city skyline, complete with a filthy pigeon that never flutters, eats, or shits. There’s an upside to everything if you want it badly enough.

. . .

“We could leave, you know.” Inducement. Plant the seeds.

“Oh yeah?” J. asks, without asking, because it is really a statement with his voice lilting up at the end merely to appease me. He plans to stay, reliable and sturdy as earth. He has girly eyelashes and doesn’t like to be as pretty as he is.

“The office hours can be made up when something actually has to be done instead of sitting here. We are allowed that discretion.” Time management. Productivity maximization. Corruption replication.

J. is intrigued by this possible interpretation of the truth of office hours.

“You just want to get home early?” he asks, genuinely questioning.

“No, why go home on a day like this just to be inside again? We could do that in here. I mean you and I should do something, maybe something we’ve never done before.” It is not enough to conquer; one must also know how to seduce. Voltaire, you dead-on, highly convenient, smartypants, office-ditching bastard, light my way.

Enjoy. Say hello. Leave a comment at TNB. Have some coffee. Appreciate the stingrays.

October 25, 2006 009 version 2, originally uploaded by the wilderness.

Over at TheNervousBreakdown.com, I’m still reliving summers from years ago:

I flounder in two part-time jobs. My elbows grow calluses from leaning for hours on desks and counter tops while I work. It is possible I am not a happy person.

At night, I drive up and down Cary Street in Richmond and take random left and right turns.

The itch to drive often arrives around 8:30 p.m. and sometimes lasts until midnight, unless I sate it earlier.

The urges to drive are worse and more real than illicit carb cravings while on Atkins.

. . . .

I yell thanks to the artist as I’m heading briskly out the door, and my cabbie for this evening zips me home.

Early Saturday morning, my friend calls me.

I’m in bed, too tired and frustrated in too many ways to answer. The machine records and broadcasts her voice.

“There’s a ton of little shits mashed into my car’s floor mat from last night. What do you DO when you go out?”

I roll over and lie there, realizing that I need a fan now that summer is here.

I plot how to walk to work in the heat, a concept that is foreign to me.

I still haven’t risen from bed.

I crave caffeine and want to be jittery.

I wait for the alarm to bleat. When it does, I reach over, feeling it shake beneath my fingers as I press the “off” button.

I pull the covers over my head and shudder everywhere, mostly in my hands.

amanda interview 0052a, originally uploaded by the wilderness.

I did my first interview at TheNervousBreakdown.com. Here’s part of the intro:

Throughout three academic degrees, this intersection has regularly been my focus: mating and dating rituals, gender identity, sexual harassment laws, pornography regulation, obscenity laws, feminism, polyamory, rights for same-sex couples, sex work, and plenty more.

. . . .

I’ve watched students and coworkers openly discuss the most recent sensationalistic HBO special about sex.

I’ve realized that people recognize the name Ron Jeremy (and his book) without missing a beat.

I’ve seen Suicide Girls become a community, complete with an enthusiastic MySpace following, instead of a secret on someone’s monitor.

What I see is that the sex business isn’t, well, so dirty anymore.

Speaking of all things sexuality, I am still not back to Transcending Gender. Since I can’t guarantee any consistency, I prefer not to do it. For now re: online stuff, I’m sticking to writing that comes when it comes.

There is a part two coming of this interview that covers free speech, lawsuit liability, banned books, self-publishing, and Writer’s Digest. Could you really ask for more? Oh stop. I’m already plotting another interview.

I’m not sure though that I’ll have any photos that are as interesting as the one above that was taken on Market Street as I drove to treatment.

After this incident, boobs took on new meaning for me.

Raven has also been open about having lupus.

Cephalon Inc.’s Provigil, a sleep- disorder drug that is the company’s best-selling product, will carry warnings of life-threatening rashes and psychiatric symptoms, U.S. regulators said.

Updated prescribing information describes rare cases of rashes, including Stevens-Johnson Syndrome, a potentially deadly skin disease, according to a posting today on the Food and Drug Administration’s Web site. The warnings also list the possibility of suicidal thoughts, hallucinations, mania and anxiety, according to the FDA.

Source.

The rash I didn’t know about, but the psych effects are very real. I don’t experience any anxiety or other effects if I take under 30 mg, which requires breaking up the pill.

I once described my sensation of taking Provigil (actually, what was too much Provigil for me, as I learned over time) for my weight and body fat (6%) as “speeding.” Of course, I heard the contrarian view quickly, including statements that not only shared others’ reactions, but also characterized mine as “wrong” somehow. I heard, “No, that’s not what it feels like because that’s not what I experience on the drug.” The fact that there is intense variability among drug experiences seems to mystify some folks.

I also occasionally experience a horrible headache from the Provigil. Totally worth it, and again controllable through lower doses.

The real problem for me has been minor dyskinesias, which brought on a full-blown activation of my TMJ and landed me in my oral surgeon’s office. He quickly diagnosed the problem. he also pointed to a basic truth: for every advantage you get through a drug, you set yourself up potentially for a disadvantage; the question is which one can you live with more easily?

wil profile light, originally uploaded by the wilderness.

Wil Dunham, that farkin’ genius, took the picture of me.

Then I was living in a house that presently belongs to someone else and looks totally different. I take drives by it out of curiosity. I don’t feel much when I do. The house reminds me of someone who has reluctantly stripped down and is now standing awkwardly, buck nekkid and pale.

Also from some time is ago is the post I’m about to plug - this one.

Some of you may remember parts of this Nervous Breakdown post, as it includes older writing that needed to be revamped, and here we are:

Near dawn, we arrive, uncertain of where we should be for that morning’s events, but there is no one to call at this hour.

There is no place to go since we will stay throughout this trip with acquaintances, who are also strangers, in an old house with bare wooden planks in the ceiling.

We smell from sweating during those tightly packed hours.

There are no options.

I pull into an alley.

No one protests because we can’t make dawn come any faster.

We resemble three bloated corpses, amorphous but identifiable in the dark.

The men fall back to sleep.

I fall somewhere else, a half-assed twilight, my eyes open but not comprehending the many skinny, young people who move swiftly and furtively around my car.

After sunrise, we air-kiss the hosts and tell them about the early morning.

“That’s a hustlers’ hot spot. You probably put a dent in business. Didn’t anyone knock on your window?”

“Nope.”

I feel let down.

At lunch, we opt to stay at the old house where we take showers, one by one, and rest.

The men, still strangers to me these soggy hours later, think nothing of stripping down to their boxers in front of me and lying down to sleep on the floor.

bar July 2006 002, originally uploaded by the wilderness.

Maybe you would like to read about them.

Driving and Treating on July 7, 2006 020 version 2, originally uploaded by the wilderness.

Here, for one.

I didn’t really leave, and yes, I’m okay, though life has taken me in directions I couldn’t imagine a year ago. The explanation, or lack thereof, is at The Nervous Breakdown.

Other news: the founder and owner of Merge Press decided to shut down the biz. ‘Tis okay: my book is going elsewhere, and so is Queer Shorts.

The moral of this post: life really does go on.

body 004 background fixed, originally uploaded by Jnnburk.

Spicy Cauldron mentioned my post about the people/person who stole my three tops. Thank you! ‘Tis an honor.

To the thieves’ credit, they took the funkiest tops and never took a plain one, the rat bastards. Good taste, bad morals. I’m sure there’s a dirty joke in there somewhere.

Check out Spicy’s listing of posts that will make you think, yearn, meditate, and want to read more.