I know, you’re all excited about the Casey Anthony trial and the probable announcement by Congressman Weiner that he’s gonna step down, but I have my own shit going on. Shit that doesn’t involve me sexting or Tweeting photos of my penis.

In one week, I’ll be entering an MRI unit for my first time. They screened me like I was rejoining the military. Do you have metal fragments in your eyes? Do you have a pacemaker? Stents? Infusion pumps? Are you claustrophobic? Do you believe in God?

OK, maybe not that last question, but they asked all the other ones, and more.

All so I can get inside this contraption that is going to make me FEEL claustrophobic (even though I’m not), so they can get a good look at my fucked up shoulder. The rotator cuff is torn – the orthopedist said he’s fairly certain – but we have to be sure.

According to the Matrix Therapist, who I saw yesterday, they give you headphones to wear because it’s so freaking loud with the clanging of the magnets. And there’s a magic button that, when pressed, says, “GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE NOW!” She explained the process to me, which was somewhat comforting, though I’m still hoping I can bring a teddy bear or something to soothe me while I’m in the MRI. Or perhaps someone will be kind enough to rub my feet. Yeah, probably not. Nothing to be afraid about. Right?

Yet I have a lot of apprehension about the whole thing, particularly the (likely) surgery to follow. I’m allergic to pain, though the Matrix Therapist was quick to point out that I’ve been living with this pain now for a long time. I neglected the needs of my body.

MT: “Do you think you’re worth surgery?”

Um, what? I answered “yes,” but inside I’m not sure of the answer. I don’t FEEL worthy much of the time.

MT: “The post-surgery pain may be less than what you’re experiencing now.”

Me: “I’m thinking more about the physical therapy, where some sadomasochist is gonna put my poor shoulder through hell and back.”

MT: “Well, you don’t HAVE to do anything you don’t want to do.”

Me: “I do if I want to recover fully.”

Then we talked more about the physical therapy, and how I can’t possibly be expected to drive to Tampa and back three times a week for P.T. She reassured me – as she did on my blog (yes, my therapist reads my blog!) – that they could set up something local for me. “Taxing circumstances,” they call it.

Then there’s the whole gimp factor, where I’ll likely be one-handed for a while post surgery. I’m a touch typist, that’s gonna be a bitch. How will I play my beloved Tiny Wings on my iPhone, or text? One finger at a time? That’s crazy talk. But hey, I’m all about the crazy, apparently.

More topics we covered in therapy: my blog, getting out of the house, connecting with friends, and naturally, my relationship with my mother. Paging Dr. Freud.

Onto a couple of apps I recently downloaded for my iPhone that I thought I’d share with you.

Tiny Wings is my current game addiction. It’s simple, beautiful to look at, requires only one finger to play, and yet I can’t put it down. The trailer below is best at showing the gameplay.

Basically, you use the hills as jumps so you can soar through the air, collecting coins along the way, touching clouds, and island jumping. I finally was able to complete my first nest by getting to the damned fourth island. The graphics are always evolving and changing, so it always looks fresh. A few screenshots below, but it’s hard to grab shots while playing this game.

99 cents is a steal for this game. Go now…download. And curse me later for getting you hooked.

Another game I’m currently playing is Hangman RSS. It pulls in current news story headlines and makes puzzles out of them for you to solve. It’s free, but there’s a 99-cent version that’s ad-free.

You get one hint letter per puzzle, so if you get stuck, you can click it and it’ll show you one of the letters. And at the bottom of the screen, there’s a brief glimpse at the redacted news story Hangman RSS is pulling the headline from.

Since Hangman is only limited by the number of news stories out there, which is, like, infinite, there’s a lot of playability. Whenever you’re connected via wifi or 3G or whatever, Hangman pulls news stories and headlines.

The cool part is when you finish a puzzle, you can press DIG and see the actual story, clicking through to read the entire article, all within the app.

Highly recommended if you like playing Hangman. It’s a refreshing spin on the game, and you might just learn something in the process.

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

Drove to Tampa yesterday to go the main VA hospital in my area. It’s a 2-hour drive each way. I spent most of the drive there fighting traffic and listening to “Hey, That’s My Hummus!” Great podcast from a couple of friends of mine.

And so it seems I do, indeed, have a torn rotator cuff. At least, that’s how it looks. Speaking of procrastination, I injured my shoulder over 18 months ago doing a Birthday Dare. Stupid me on roller skates, for the first time in 20 years. Why did I wait so long? Because I’m an idiot. And at the time, my right hand was the most painful…I hyper-extended my fingers and sprained the hand really badly.

I go in for an MRI in a few weeks and we’ll know for sure then, but the doctor I saw yesterday says he’s pretty sure the rotator cuff is torn. He asked me to hold my arms up this way and that, and it’s clear the range of motion of my right arm is much lesser than that of my left. They took more x-rays. I was in and out of the hospital in 90 minutes, which surprised me. The VA isn’t known for its speed.

If the MRI shows a torn rotator cuff, it’s likely going to require surgery. I haven’t had any surgeries since I was 3 and my tonsils were taken out. I don’t even remember that, even with the free ice cream I got.

Yeah, I’m a bit scared, I admit it. I’m a wuss when it comes to pain, though I’ve been living with this for a while now. I guess I’ll learn to type with one hand. You know, for when my arm is in a sling. And I am a lefty, so at least there’s that. I won’t have to learn to eat with my non-dominant hand.

There are logistical issues, as well, like getting to physical therapy post surgery. I’ll have to get them to authorize something local because there’s no way I can drive to and from Tampa several times a week. Hell, I won’t be able to drive for a while, period.

I haven’t yet Googled “torn rotator cuff.” The results are likely to be overwhelming, but I’ll look it up soon. Maybe I’ll Google “stupid skating injuries,” too.

Also this week, I went to see my new shrink. Because the local Sebring VA clinic is so small, they didn’t have a local shrink for a year and a half. All my shrink appointments were via video-conference. Now they have a live person again and it was my first meeting with her.

Shrink: “So tell me about yourself and what you’re in treatment for.”

I repeat my diagnoses by rote.

Me: “PTSD, anxiety disorder, bipolar, major depression.”

S: “You’ve got a lot going on, don’t you?”

I thought, “No shit, Sherlock,” but instead just replied, “Yes.”

Then we went through my meds and how I’m not all that confident in the Abilify, which I’ve been on for a while now. She’s cutting my dose in half to see if it makes a difference. And there will be an extra Klonopin every day, too. She also mentioned adding an antidepressant to my drug cocktail, but we’ll wait for a month to see how the other changes affect me first. Between my diabetes and cholesterol and all the mental shit, I’m on quite a few different things.

She had me hold up my arms in front of me, then dangle them down to the floor, then hold up one leg at a time. Checking for involuntary movements, twitches, etc. Sure, I move my legs all the time, bouncing them up and down, but that’s more about nervous habits and anxiety. I CAN stop moving them, I just don’t. Yes, I can be frustrating to sit next to on a sofa.

S: “Have you ever attempted suicide?”

Me: “Yes.”

S: “When was that?”

Me: “1995.”

I took a bunch of pills with a glass of wine, then threw them up within two minutes, and promptly went to bed. I couldn’t go through with it, couldn’t do that to my family. It was a momentary lapse in judgment at a point in my life where I was at rock bottom.

S: “You’re not suicidal now? No thoughts of harming yourself?”

Me: “No.”

The truth is, I think about it, but would never act on it. The inner voices (no, not literal voices) tend to lead me down this deluded primrose path that says how lovely it’d be to just…vanish. Be absent of this place and all my maladies. It’s calming to me to imagine myself out of existence. Weird, I know. Morbid, maybe. But no, I’m not suicidal.

Besides, I have to see what happens next on “Fringe.” And “Doctor Who” is on tonight. Plus, tomorrow is MTV’s remake of “Teen Wolf,” which I admit I’m curious about. Then there’s the WWDC on Monday, where I hope Steve Jobs will announce the iPhone 5 (or iPhone 4S, or whatever they’re gonna call it). I need an upgrade to my iPhone 3G.

Yeah, sometimes it’s the little things that get you through the day.

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

Ever put something off for, say, forever? I have. Procrastination is my middle name. I put off calling a friend for so long that, the longer I waited, the more difficult it became to get in touch with that person. I felt like I was a major disappointment, and the shame that kept building became nearly insurmountable.

Well, today was the day for me to bust down the walls I’d built (yet again) and get in touch. I did, even if via IM, and I’m glad. I apologized, was told there was no need, and I feel tons better about it.

I do this falling-off-the-Earth thing, and I hate that I do it. I have let down a number of friends this way, have been told they hate when I do it, and yet I still let my depression/shame get the best of me. Time and time again. And for what? I’ve even lost jobs because of this shit.

Life is short and I’ve been squandering it. I rarely leave the house, so is it any wonder I don’t have many local friends? Fear. Fear has been ruling my life, and I don’t like it. I can relate all too well to agoraphobics, afraid to leave home, to the point where I’ve rescheduled appointments. I’ve skipped get-togethers with friends because of this shit.

I don’t know what the answer is, other than to keep doing what I did just a while ago: push through the fear and do it, anyway. Not an easy task for me, typically riddled with anxieties about anything and everything. But I’ve done it before (BlogHer, TequilaCon, etc.), and I can do it again.

It doesn’t help that I’m not working. I need to work. Ideally, a work-from-home writing situation. Yeah, even though I rarely post anything these days, writing is my key talent. So if you happen to know of anything available, please let me know.

I’m tired of burning bridges. Time for repair work.

And on a totally different note, I caved in and went to see the Hangover 2 yesterday. The synopsis on Rotten Tomatoes says:

A crueler, darker, raunchier carbon copy of the first installment, The Hangover Part II lacks the element of surprise — and most of the joy — that helped make the original a hit.

And some of the reviews?

I can’t believe how precisely everything does happen again, except that what was fresh and surprising in Las Vegas turns rancid and predictable in Bangkok, where yet another wedding is scheduled to take place.

This is pretty much one of the laziest… most careless and unimaginative sequels I’ve ever seen. It’s not even so much a sequel as it is a filmic pat on the back to those responsible for making the first film such a success. It’s a self-congratulatory and mostly unfunny REMAKE of the first film…

Adheres to the old maxim “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” yet somehow manages to break it while not fixing it.

All of these snippets are correct. The Hangover 2 is exactly the same flick as the first one, except this time, there’s no surprise element. Everything is duplicated – just in Bangkok instead of Vegas. It may be a little bawdier than the first one, and there ARE some laughs, but for me it was a letdown.

Yet another “forgotten” evening of debauchery and danger, where the three main characters attempt to put the pieces back together the following day. The stakes are the same…they’ve got to find someone they “misplaced” and make it back before a wedding, this time Stu’s. Mike Tyson makes an unbelievable appearance. There’s even the same plot device at the end credits, where you see all the photos taken during their forgotten night. These aren’t spoilers, mind you, I got all this info just from reading one review of the film.

WORTH: the dollar cinema, if you have one in your town. Otherwise, wait for it on video if you simply feel you must see it. Better yet, watch the first Hangover again. It’s much funnier and better executed.

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

So hi there. Happy Star Wars Day (may the fourth be with you!). It’s been a long time since I blogged anything. I can’t count how many times I thought about blogging but then just…didn’t.

The truth is that I am sick and tired of my depression and all the depression posts I was writing last year. Things haven’t really changed in that department. I appreciate everyone (y’know, the three of you that approached me) saying they missed my posts. I didn’t feel like writing. Part of me still doesn’t. The other part, though, has been itching to post. So here I am.

• If you follow me at all on Twitter or Facebook, you know my mother recently had abdominal surgery. It all traces back to last August, when a large polyp was discovered during a routine colonoscopy. A colonoscopy that led to a ruptured spleen and a splenectomy. It’s been a banner past year for Mom’s health. First a broken kneecap, then the spleen, now this surgery. Fortunately, the surgery this time went off without a hitch and Mom is now home after a 6-day hospital stay. Thanks for all the prayers and well wishes. She’s quite happy to be home again. I mean, who the hell can rest at all in a hospital, where they’re poking and prodding you every few minutes, or so it seems?
• There are health issues with my stepmother, too, but I won’t get into those here. Suffice it to say it just adds to my stress levels. Getting old sucks.
• I’ve been a real homebody for months now, bordering on agoraphobic. Chalk it up to anxiety, if you will. And thank God for Klonopin.
• I wish I had more local friends. Most all of mine live in the computer, so to speak. In order for this to happen, I’d have to leave the house more often. What a bitch. And it’s not like there’s a ton to do in Sebring to meet people.
• According to rumors, there won’t be the typical new iPhone release this summer. Instead, they’re looking toward the fall for a release. Who knows if it’s true or not, but I’m bummed. See, I still have an iPhone 3G, which will be three years old in August. I’ve been waiting to upgrade, and I could grab myself an iPhone 4…but how silly would that be when the iPhone 5 is somewhere close down the road? Relatively speaking.
• Speaking of the iPhone, I waited a long time for Verizon to get their hands on it, and I was determined to jump ship from AT&T as soon as that happened. I’ve since changed my mind. My only real bitch with AT&T was no 3G in my little town. Verizon, however, did have 3G here. Well, as of December, AT&T 3G has come to Sebring. There are other factors involved. Verizon’s network is slower than AT&T’s. On top of that, you can’t talk and websurf at the same time on Verizon’s iPhone. Not true with AT&T. So when I finally upgrade my “antique” phone, I’m sticking with AT&T. Plus, hey, rollover minutes? All carriers should have them. But don’t.
• Another rumor has it that Twitter has bought Tweetdeck. As a Tweetdeck user, this kinda scares me. I don’t know if Twitter plans on simply rebranding Tweetdeck as the official Twitter client for Windows machines or if they’re going to screw up what is a great client. Time will tell.
• Osama Bin Laden is dead. I have mixed feelings about it. Part of me is glad, part of me can’t rejoice for the death of another human being, no matter how evil he was. I’ve seen a lot of similar sentiment on Twitter and Facebook. I do think it’s awfully strange the man was living in a mansion’ish compound in Pakistan, yet Pakistani officials claim they had no idea he was there; in fact, swore that he wasn’t there. Regardless, I, for one, have no desire to see photographic evidence of Bin Laden’s death. It’s morbid as fuck. I’m not one to normally take the government’s word on blind faith, but in this case, I believe them. He’s dead. Like a game of Whack-a-Mole, though, some other head will pop up to replace him and we’ll have another new enemy to face. Sigh.
• I usually hate talent shows, but I’m digging NBC’s “The Voice.” It’s far better than “American Idol.”
• I had an appointment for an orthopedic consult tomorrow to examine my age-old shoulder injury, which happened during a Birthday Dare video a year and a half ago. Pretty sure I tore the rotator cuff. Yeah, I’m a procrastinator. But with Mom freshly home from the hospital, I’m not comfortable leaving her alone while I go all the way to Tampa and back, so I rescheduled it for next month. I’ve lived with the discomfort and pain this long – another month won’t kill me.
• I get so many press releases in my inbox that I’ve started finally doing something about them, aside from just pressing DELETE. I can’t count how many times I’ve typed “Please remove me from your mailing list. Thank you.” Hopefully, it works.
• The anhedonia is huge. However, I am looking forward to “The Hangover, Part II” this month. The first one was hilarious, and I’m hoping the sequel will be, too.

And that’s all I have for now. There, I posted.

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

What does depression feel like? That’s what ads for antidepressants ask us, as they parade about cartoons of sad rocks rolling lazily along a sparse black and white landscape. Right now, it feels like this enormous weight sitting on my chest, one that refuses to go away.

I look fine on the outside (even on Twitter), but I’m not. You’d think I’d be happy about going 7 weeks (today) without a cigarette. But in actuality, quite a bit of late I feel as if I’m on the verge of a panic attack. I face each day with dread…another day to face with far too much time on my hands and no way to pass that time.

I know, I realize that many people complain about not having enough time, so it sounds crazy to bitch about having too much of it. Trust me, it’s a grass-is-always-greener thing. There is such a thing as too much time. I have a fine appreciation these days for certain idioms, like “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop.”

My brain is my worst enemy. I cannot imagine living the rest of my life this way, and yet somehow I manage to do just that. I lay in bed, awake, for hours at a time…wondering. How can I continue skating by like this, day to day, no income other than disability, not working, living with my mother, so scared at times that I can’t leave the house, spending 20 minutes just trying to decide what to eat, the weight on my chest, hopeless? Every action I take seems pointless.

Someone left a comment on my last post, saying something to the effect of “just forget about working and let the bills take care of themselves.” I don’t know if they were attempting to be humorous but I didn’t find it very funny. Much as my life may seem like a joke, it’s not a joke to me. Granted, my sense of humor is more than a tad lacking right now.

I see the future and it looks bleak to me because I’m alone. And that’s something that really shakes the bajeezus out of me. Who do I have to take care of me when I get old? I know, what the fuck am I thinking about this shit for at 44? Because I’m likely closer to death than I am to my birth. What? I said it looks bleak.

This is more than a mid-life crisis, I assure you. I feel like I’m drowning and it’s been building for a while. All comfort seems to elude me. TV, music, books, Twitter and Facebook, even talking with friends…it all falls flat.

I would prefer non-existence over this. As the Old 97’s sang once, “Parts of me have already died.” I’m NOT suicidal, for the record. Don’t go calling anyone to slap the white jacket on me and throw me in a rubber room. I’m just in a really bad place, and at a total loss about what to do.

I see that “30 Days of Truth” blog meme going around. I’ve thought about trying it, but it’s an awfully lengthy way to gaze at my navel even more than I’ve already been doing. Besides, my blog has already turned into nothing but depressing Truth.

I feel like my best years are all gone. I feel like I’ve run out of things to say, and that no one could possibly find me interesting, let alone want to hang out with me. I dread gatherings of people now more than I think I ever have. Can’t imagine facing anything like BlogHer or TequilaCon in my present state of mind. Hell, I struggle just to go out to dinner right now.

I have fucked up virtually all aspects of my life, and there are no do-overs.

Don’t you just wanna party with me? Honest, I used to be funny. I just don’t know where that man is any more.

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

Lately I haven’t felt much like getting out of bed. At all. In fact, some of the only things I feel like getting out of bed for are the new TV shows. Sad, really, particularly since very few of the new shows are worth watching. Never even got a chance to see “Lone Star,” and it’s already canceled. Stupid TV executives. How you cancel a show after two episodes is beyond me. In the old days – boy, I’m actually starting a sentence with “in the old days” – a show stayed on the air for an entire season. If it sucked, it sucked, and you just avoided that channel at that time. Nowadays, shows aren’t given a chance to gain footing, find an audience; if it’s  not a hit right out of the gate, it’s gone. Which sucks because a lot of great shows weren’t hits right away. Seinfeld, Cheers, MASH, and many others.

Anyway, I digress. I’m depressed. I think about the future and I get more depressed. I’m not working at all. Haven’t worked in a long time. That only serves to increase my anxiety.

My shoulder/arm still hurt, a year after I injured them doing a birthday dare (that I never edited, let alone “aired”). I must have torn something, a rotator cuff or something else I don’t know much about but hurts like hell when you tear it. Popping Aleve like candy. Damn arm affects my sleep, and thus impairs my staying in bed as much as I’d like to. I’m a stomach-sleeper but now I’m forced to sleep on my back…or my side.

I get “paralyzed” a lot lately. Paralyzed by indecision, malaise, anhedonia. Not sure what to do. Everything seems major. Making a doctor appointment, major. Answering the phone, major. Making something to eat, major. Checking the mail, major. And yeah, writing a blog post, major.

I’m sick of myself. Major.

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

Yeah, so I couldn’t make it past Day 11. I’m home.

Thanks for all the love and support (and mail). For those that sent something I didn’t get, I’m hoping they forward it on to me.

For now, I’m just not feeling much like doing anything, including Twitter and Facebook. I’m sure I’ll slip into the groove again at some point.

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

Day 5 of 28.

Last night was a rough one. And I suspect the weekend is going to be tough, too. During the week, they keep you very busy. There’s a class or group almost all the time from 8 in the morning until 3 or 4 in the afternoon.

It’s the nights and weekends where I struggle. All the downtime with very little to do. Some of you might say that’s a good thing. It’s not for me.

Tried watching a movie last night for a bit (“Master and Commander”), but it wasn’t clicking with me. So I got up and wandered over to the bank of computers. Spent about half an hour on email and Facebook, but that wasn’t clicking, either.

With the rain coming down in buckets for a short time, I couldn’t go outside to smoke. Went to my room and laid in bed, staring at the ceiling for 45 minutes.

What the fuck am I doing here? I don’t belong here. How am I gonna make it for a month in this place? I miss home. I miss my routine. I miss my bed. I miss everything that isn’t HERE. I miss not having to lock all my shit up in a drawer or locker. I don’t belong here. There are 37 acoustical ceiling tiles.

Over and over again, ad nauseum.

Then I said “fuck it” and just went to bed around 9:15. Woke up at 6 this morning.

It’s the anhedonia. I don’t feel like doing a damn thing, yet I curse the boredom. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.

Today I’m dragging my ass, trying not to fall asleep, watched a little bootleg copy of “Robin Hood” in one of the TV rooms. Now I’ve started a load of laundry – well, I can put it all in one load, really, which I did – and I’m praying the damn washer runs all the way through the cycle.

It’s 11:30am. What I’m going to do for the rest of the day, I don’t know. There’s a meeting tonight I’m supposed to go to, another one in the morning, which everyone says is great but I’m not looking forward to because it’s outside and it’s hotter than Satan’s armpit out there.

“But there are free donuts and coffee!” someone told me. That doesn’t matter to me, honestly.

I don’t know if I have what it takes to complete this damn thing. I don’t know if I WANT to have what it takes.

Mentioned how rough a night I had to one of the guys at breakfast. He said the first week is a bitch, then it flows fast.

We’ll see.

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

Day 3 of 28.

So I finish treatment on July 13, according to my advisor/therapist here. I’m already counting the days. Not that it’s a horrible place, but damn. My schedule is not in line with the schedule they have me following here.

See, I’m a guy who goes to bed at 1 or 2 in the morning, sleeps till 9 or so, has several cups of coffee before even thinking about food. That shit doesn’t wash here.

Our first gettogether – the "community meeting" – is at 8am. Breakfast is served from 6:30-7:45 in the morning. Lunch from 11-12. Dinner from 5-6. You don’t eat when they’re serving, you’re fucked. (Some would say that even if you do get to eat, you’re fucked. The food reminds me of chow hall days in the military.) This resulted in me awaking this morning at 5:45. OK, that’s not entirely accurate. I GOT UP at 5:45. My roommate (oh, yes, there’s a roommate) got up at 3:00 (in the MORNING) and was packing his stuff up since he leaves tomorrow.

He’s a nice guy, my roomie, but I’d much prefer a private room. They do have a few of them, but I didn’t get the luck of the draw on that one.

The day is pretty well packed with classes and groups. Aside from meals, the biggest break of the day is from 8:30-9:00 AM. After that, you’re fortunate to get 5 minutes between each session. It’s all individualized…I have a schedule that’s highlighted with the sessions I’m supposed to attend each day. Naps? Well, those have been severely curbed. I’m dragging a bit, but surviving.

As for logistics, I had no idea what to expect coming in. As it turns out, we’re allowed to keep all our meds in our room (under lock and key in our personal locker), unless you’re taking a controlled substance (which I’m not). I even have my insulin and syringes in my room. Wasn’t expecting that. Yes, we can have shoelaces and belts. Someone asked me about that beforehand and I didn’t have the answer till I got here Tuesday morning.

There’s a rec room with ping-pong table, pool tables, foosball, games, etc. There are 4 different TVs spread throughout our wing, each with DVD players. Just finished watching "Regarding Henry" this evening. Tuesday night was "Avatar," which I hadn’t seen but really enjoyed.

We can have visitors on Saturday afternoons, though I don’t really expect anyone, except maybe my Mom.

They’ve changed up my meds a bit. That’s one of the better things about the experience thus far, since I wanted them to do something different for me. (As if being in a residential program wasn’t enough of a change-up.)

The guys here are (for the most part) really cool. We have youngins who served in Iraq, all the way up through old-timers who served in Vietnam. Then there’s me, who served during the first Gulf War. Full spectrum. As much as the social aspect of this place scared the fuck out of me ahead of time, it really has turned out to be okay. Not surprising, it’s just that I tend to blow the hell out of everything in anticipation.

There’s one washer and dryer to serve about 100 or so people. And it’s not an industrial washer/dryer, either. You sign up for 2-hour blocks of time on a sheet, and the washer has the temperment of Sybil. Not Sybil Law…Sybil, as in you don’t know which personality you’re gonna get at any given moment. Sometimes it works fine, other times it just keeps starting and restarting its cycle over and over again. I look forward to Saturday, when I’m signed up to do my laundry.

The mops they supply for us (yeah, we clean our own rooms and bathrooms) are primitive at best. There are room inspections daily (feel like I’m back in the Air Force already, except for the part where I don’t have to shave and I can wear cargo shorts). We have bed checks, of course…which really isn’t a big deal. It’s not like I have anywhere to go after hours.

And there ARE computers with Internet, which I wasn’t expecting. Thank God. Course, I don’t have much time to sit in front of them. Most of my day I’m relegated to my iPhone, which only gets a signal outside (as I mentioned in my last post).

There are several wings here, ranging from people with mental health probs to PTSD to substance abuse. For the most part, everyone gets along fine, though there are occasional "disagreements." Rumors abound and word has it that someone is getting kicked out for starting a fight today. I don’t get it, you’d think people just just calm the fuck down and treat each other with some respect. But I admit there are a couple of guys I wouldn’t mind getting punched. Not by me, of course. I’m a pacifist. Mostly.

This is rambling and long-winded and all over the board, I know. Guess I just wanted to check in and say I’m ok. I’ll be better come July 13.

I put my mailing address in the last post if you feel inclined to write. If not, no biggie. I understand that you’re too lazy to write me while I’m in the looney bin. *sniff sniff*

WHAT I *CAN* USE: We sit in the atrium quite a bit, smoking, me and the guys. Lots of jokes get passed around, so if you know any really good ones, I’d appreciate you commenting here with one or two. Laughs most welcome, and the guys who’ve been here for weeks are always expecting the newcomers (that’d be me) to bring new jokes with them. Much appreciated.

I’ll post when I can. Thanks again for all your comments, Tweets, messages, texts, and emails. Again, I wish I could respond to everyone, but it’s just not feasible right now.

Hasta lasagna.

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

Can’t really blog much here. Computers are rather limited. So is phone signal. Can only get signal outside.

Thanks for all your messages on Twitter and Facebook. I see them. Can’t respond to everyone, though. Or blog comments.

For those that wanna write me, here’s my mailing address through the first week and a half of July.

Thanks again. Tomorrow begins my first real day of group and classes.

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan