Dithering.

Yup, having to wonder how -- if ever -- I wind up the series of entries about the recent upheaval in my life. There are a number of experiences at the hospital I've avoided getting into, for a variety of reasons, including not being certain I remember some of them correctly. Amid a lot of unhappy times and unhappy people, perhaps the occasional moment of amusement, but I'm not even sure about that.

It occurs to me that I will never be through with writing this post-death saga in a way, as altered perceptions have changed everything for me. So the post Feb. 29th Me will have a far different take on things than the Old Version. This is a source of both wonderment and confusion for me. I don't like some of what I think and say now, but on the whole the New Guy is a better package.

I have to say that, given my druthers, Scrib II would have been a little more forceful, a little more demanding, and a little better equipped to get people to do what he wants instead of acquiescing to their wishes with as much grace as he can muster while watching personal dreams and desires fade.

Oh, what the hell. I'd probably screw up as badly as an unprincipled jerk as I do as a would-be Nice Guy. So forget that.

My attention span seems to have shortened a bit, and I'm betting that's rooted in some kind of organic damage. Well, no, I'm not entirely sure of that. What I don't do well now is things like listening to radio commentators, reading pompous opinions on issues that don't affect me or accepting "conventional wisdom" that seems unfounded, distorted and cant-filled. That means I don't listen to politicians as well as I did, say, nine days ago.

And I have yet to finally have the 100% breakdown that has threatened since a week ago Thursday. It starts, then stops. Could come in the next minute, week or month. Damn, I feel sorry for the person who happens to be around when that load of excreta hits the fan.

Just had nice organic vegetarian pasta for dinner. Amazing. A five-minute walk could put a bag of BBQ-flavor potato chips in one hand, a pack of Winstons in the other but I haven't even felt that much of an urge. Yet, anyway. I am so damn proud of myself!

When you have premonitions that the important good things -- beyond the victory of survival -- will elude you, you gotta pat yourself on the back for not doing bad things, no?

I just read this. Although it represents my train of thought accurately, I see it is unlikely to make sense to any rational human. And I'm sober, too. Honest.

Enough. Bedtime.

Tomorrow begins the Big Apartment Cleanup. I love the smell of carpet shampoo in the morning....