Dear Diary . . . day by day

Sunday November 5th - bleak
Burning Man
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2000 Today, I scared myself. Today, I think I knew a little of what it really feels like to be crazy. Today, I looked up from the phone book, realizing with a shock that I was idly looking to see where the nearest gun store is.
David assures me that you can't get a gun that fast - not even in America.
It didn't help that I watched Fight Club with Ian last night. What a fucked up movie. So very easy to take away the wrong message from that movie. (Spoiler alert) But today it so made sense, wanting to blow away a demon inside your head.
Anyway, I am getting help. Tomorrow. You can't get mental help on the weekend, and certainly not on a Sunday, not unless you want to be medicated and packed away somewhere. No, I don't actually know that; yes, I've been reading too many novels.
My ear is still pretty fucked up and painful. I think crying excessively makes it worse; all that phlegm, you know. My right, holey ear is throbbing. I'm sleeping 12+ hours a day now and it doesn't help. I went back to bed after reading my email this morning and came out again for dinner. Thank god I had plans with David and thank god he called. I think I would've forgotten to eat today if I hadn't hung out with him.
This is just terrible. I hate myself so much right now, and I really need to stop it. I wonder how fast I can get an appointment to talk to someone.
This is one of those entries that may disappear sooner or later. To quote Ani diFranco (somewhat out of her context): I look forward to looking back on these days. But I might need to forget about some of this for awhile, forget how to feel this bad.
Exercise log:
I feel like I just climbed up a mountain with a thirty pound backpack on my back. I'm also sore from leg weightlifting on Friday.
Writing log:
The Many Masks of Halloween in Strange Horizons.
I'm currently reading:
The Dark Door by Kate Wilhelm
Solaris by Stanislaw Lem
Woman: An Intimate Geography by Natalie Angier

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