jon, punch me in the face

believe straight away that you are fucked from the beginning when your psychiatrist is pregnant and unofficially licensed and lives on the opposite side of the states.  not strangely, there is hesitation when you feel the need to explain yourself at 2:31am and to succeed will be forced to rely upon the clarity of a lunar phone call across a dark 2500 miles ... not going to happen.  and that this is also inconsequential to the world take-over scheme seems to be a reoccurring motif in the narrative.  but scheming?  what scheming?  indeed.  I am habitually deviating from the path and being human is a real pain in my balls.  so very little matters, but there is oh so very much of it.  and now, once again I am classically drunk, a body bent unhinged that cracks and rusts instantly in this humid night air.  my mind is forced to wander home burdened by all my useless flesh and bone and thus must somehow drag me slumped along behind it to a safer place.  it's almost flattering.  and I take care to notice that every so often my mind can be kind, even civil on its own terms.  but there is no grand illusion and I have never been foolish enough to believe there has ever been a way to hide the awkwardness of this fragile and momentary truce.  in other words, do not ever turn your back.  there is always a gun within reach and the advantage is hardly ever yours.  I have no further clarification.  I have unfortunately deviated due to poo time.