(no subject)

I am tired from lack of sleep due to inspiration striking every time I try to go to bed, tired further from doing more unpacking kinds of activities, vaguely headachey (but better than earlier), hungry, and feeling the effects of mild blood loss from getting blood work done and not eating after it. I'm also still obsessed with devils, vampires, going places, and blood. The lyricism in my writings has been truly horrendous lately, and I am quite behind on a lot of writings. I am too sick of handling real objects to even think of taking care of my physical appearance; at the same time, the mix of reading two Anne Rice books at once and being generally hypersensitive to my environment is making me dream irritatingly materialistic dreams right alongside the magical chaotic ones. Plus, I managed to get nearly offended with the letter "c" today.

And yet I am happy at the moment, not despite these things but including them. Neither am I particularly pissed off about being happy, for all these things are still in place.

If I weren't already getting psychiatric help, I'd be starting to think I need it really, really badly. As it is, it's probably partially a result of various helps.

-Claudia