My Robot Is Pregnant theme song!

I gouged out some crud from under the corner of my big toe with the round end of my nose hair scissors. So many little things to keep up with. My desk is always cluttered, but that clutter doesn’t have the rank stench of what comes out from my toes. Is this a visionquest? So bored laying in bed for two days now, it’s all I can do to not fix a tall Tequila and OJ over ice and crawl under the blankets, only to prolong the illness.
Here’s what I’ve thought about as far as why I’m living the life I am.
I like working more than I like creating things and I’m embarrassed about that because I want to be creative more than I want to be a worker. But if I have the choice of staying home and writing or going to clean out a garage, I’d rather do the clean out. It is more immediate and exciting to me.
I’ll be 36 shortly and I’ve become someone I didn’t want to be: a wage slave.
Is a visionquest supposed to bum you out? No, it’s supposed to give you a path to a new life.
Fear of being poor keeps me from sitting around the kitchen table drawing comics, so unless the visionquest comes fully funded, I don’t see myself having the courage to take the path suggested. This whole weekend has led me to recognize the dark vortex of a reality I’m afraid to escape. Wage slave.
How to be free? I want to sing it like a bird. Like an opera. Like the beginning of the Star Spangled Banner. “Ohhh How Can I Be FreeEeee?”
I should know by now there is no freedom. Like the crud under my toes, life is always gonna stick crap in my way I have to deal with. Money can’t buy me anything but a more appropriate digging tool for the job, but whatevs, the nose hair scissors work fine.
I’ll be a junk man with a junk shop and piles of stuff and always wonder why I didn’t work harder at writing a novel or getting a tv show. Then I’ll remember – I was more interested in collecting stuff.
It’s like I have two sicknesses. The one is the hording compulsion. The other is the egomania that wants to be in the public eye. My visionquest has revealed to me that hording is a stronger compulsion. If I want to be more creative I have to get rid of everything. I have 12 bicycles in the shed. I have six old doors in the back of the pick up. I have 800 pounds of steel in the form of a chair lift to bring disabled people up a flight of stairs in the back of the new truck. I have two couches, three fish tanks, a locker, a slip’n slide, throw rugs, and boxes of clothes and books in the back of the third truck. The garage doesn’t have a path to the back, but there is a route of things I climb on top of that I know can support my weight when I need to get there. I have more doors behind the bushes alongside the house. Under the back steps are old windows. Sometimes I feel insane.