…we are supposed to be working tomorrow, and so I’m not bothering to go back to the house, because it’s almost 2 hours to get there, and then 2 hours back, and the air conditioning here works.  And I could duck out, but then I would feel like I was letting everyone down, and I would feel guilty about it, and stressed out.  So I’ll stay here in the office tonight, and work tomorrow, and then by God I really should just kill myself.  There is too much crashing around in my head right now, there is too much pain, of old and new kinds, in my body, in my mind, and I can’t get hold of anything I’m supposed to be doing.  I can’t get ahold of myself.  I can’t take care of things I should take care of.  I can’t even make my follow-up appointments, or get plugged into a primary doctor or a psychiatrist or anything else.  Or, I can take tomorrow off and instead just go sit in the stupid house over the weekend and bake, and go nowhere because I have no vehicle, and I sure as hell am not going to ride my bike or walk very far in the state I’m in.  And then there’s laundry on Sunday, of course, I guess if I’m alive I have to do that.  I couldn’t stand it not being done…I even squeezed in to do the load on Tuesday night when I got back from the hospital.  Also, if I take tomorrow off, it’s too obvious that it wasn’t what was INTENDED to happen, it’s just an exception made now that I’ve expressed my dismay (by punching a wall and throwing my chair against another wall like a fucking moron) at the fact that we’re being open.  I have too many windows open and too many browser tabs open, and too many USB attachments and their drivers going, and too much fucking malware in my code, and the system and the CPU and everything else are about three generations obsolete, and the cooling fan is running and about sixty MPR (minutes per revolution).  I can smell the stench of melting plastic in my own head, and my body stinks of rotten meat (this is metaphorical, of course).  I hate myself.  I’m useless.  I’m pointless.  I’m alone because I deserve to be alone, and what I really deserve to be is gone.  I could just finish work tomorrow and then take the rest of the Percocet that they gave me, maybe throw something else on top of it.  It’s probably not enough to kill me, unfortunately, just to do damage.  I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what to do, I cannot manage this anymore.  I’ve been trying, I’ve been trying to hold together for a long time, through divorce and not seeing my kids and going to prison and losing my license and chronic pain and issues related to the fact that I’m a previously undiagnosed autistic. and I’ve TRIED to be positive and to do and make positive things, write books, learn guitar and make and record songs, do this horribly annoying blog every day, but I can’t seem to make it all work, and I can’t seem to do anything, and there’s no point, anyway.  I hate it here.  But I hate the prospect of trying to move somewhere else at least as much.  I hate my situation, my living arrangements, the weather in this stupid excuse for a state, but the prospect of conceivably trying to pick up and start anew somewhere else is just overwhelming and horrifying.  I am trapped in my own mind, and there’s nothing I can do to get out, because the problem is my own mind, and my body.  I don’t know what to do.  I really don’t.  I can’t figure anything out.  It’s all just chaos and entropy, loud noises and loud people, and nothing makes any sense.  And it hurts to fucking go to the bathroom, on top of everything else.  I’m sorry.  I’m sorry, everyone.  I’m sorry I’m such a miserable person.  I don’t mean to be.  I try not to be.  I try to do good in the world, especially for people I care about, but I never do get it right.