Ah the masses, they always want something from you.  Usually I ignore them until they ask directly.  For those of you with a substantial fan-base, they'll ask you faster.  Make me something.  Produce.  Now.

I find myself pressuing myself.  For weeks it seemed like I was oozing thought, pouring it from my fingers into a keyboard staccato.  Now, it ebbs and I wonder: whither goest thou, desire and lust, spinning crazed wanting that had me going and going.

Does the regained control of my brain automatically mean that I'll write less, that I'll emote less.  Is it the constant question of wild extremes versus middle-of-the-road ennui?

So I've been cleaning my house, and cooking.  The real problem with making all your meals at home is that you're constantly cleaning up after yourself.  That plus laundry, plus three games of football make for a whole day.  Vaccumed my bedroom with the little hand-held Dirt Devil.  It's bizarre but it works well.  Took all the books on the bedside table that I wasn't reading and put them on the bookshelf, leaving only the Rashi Torah, the complete Tanakh, and the prayerbook.  I didn't pray today at all.  Having some guilt about saying prayers outloud that aren't supposed to be uttered without a minyan, I think.  But belting out the Hatzi Kaddish just feels so good... how could it be wrong?  I will persist, but I do pause and wonder.

I cleaned out the sex toy drawer, taking out the condom wrappers and washing the tools.  I threw out the lube that was crazy leaking, and wiped up the bottom of the drawer.  As I disposed of it all into a trash bag, I considered what sort of story my trash tells, surely an artifact of watching too much Law and Order.  Condoms and lube, no sperm.  It can't be that weird.

Cleaning is good.  It feels good. 

I've been sleeping in five-hour stints, staying awake for about fifteen or eighteen hours.  I keep pushing myself to do more, and then I watch myself watch TV.  I did start to study Hebrew tonight, just a little, but focused and purposeful.  I put on Berlin Jerusalem by Amos Gitai, and think I haven't smoked enough to really get it.  I inhale more, hoping it will help, maybe spur on a unique thought that's worth writing down.  I wheeze and make another cup of tea.

Bitter, this memory of Germany.  Jewish hearts and minds did mingle and you can't remove their influence.  Bitter also, the effort to reclaim an ancient land.  Where shall we make a home?  Dispersed for centuries, can we make any claim to it?  What now for Deutschland?  Shall we leverage their guilt?  Can they be forgiven?  How can they not?