Dogs, Darkness, and Dickheads

So, I’ve been doing some dog/housesitting on the side to make any kind of (tax-free) money I can, and really, to pay back my step-father the money I borrowed from him to move. He keeps reminding me that I have to pay it back by Christmas. I know! It’s just not easy sending big paychecks away like that. Sucks, really. But as I know, it was my choice to move. Nobody better expect anything for Christmas/Hanukah from me except my warmest wishes for a holiday season.

ANYWAY, (ADD distractions!), it was pretty late at night and I had to take the two dogs I was taking care of to “the park.” A massive, beautiful “ecologically-friendly” place called, Prospect Park in the embarrassingly affluent Park Slope community of Brooklyn. Due to the fact that it was wicked cold and I don’t fancy walking deep into a dark park at night, I decided to take the dogs to the closest grassy knoll possible. As I approaching it, I heard shouting. Chock-full of profanity and anger, there was no doubt it was some sort of fight involving more than two people. I held tightly to the dogs' leashes in case I need them to save me (which I was seriously doubting since they slobber joyfully all over anyone who looks their way). I was on the park side of the fence on this “grassy knoll” which was elevated about two feet from street level. The park is surrounded by this stone fence, about 2-3 feet high, with the sidewalk and street on the other side.

As things got closer, and the shouts and profanity louder, I could make out three teenagers up on the knoll with me, and below on the sidewalk, a homeless man with his shopping carts and personal possessions. They were screaming at each other and the teenagers were throwing anything they could get their hands on at the homeless man. As I got closer, one teenager picked up this metal pole as long as a javelin (and much heavier) and threw it right at the homeless man, hitting his arm. These weren’t boys out on a stupid prank, they were seriously attacking this man. I was so appalled by what I saw I could hardly contain myself. I began shouting, “Hey, stop!” but they didn’t seem to hear me. Choking on anger and adrenaline, I took off sprinting toward the boys screaming, dogs keeping pace along side me, oblivious to the drama unfolding. As I was nearing the boys, one who had now picked up a large metal trashcan, holding it above his head, ready to throw at the homeless man, I started screaming every single profanity I’d ever heard in my life at them. I didn’t know what else to do.

“You dumbshit motherfuckers, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?! ..." I won’t get into all of it, but let's just say I would have made Collin Farrell blush. Yet it wasn’t ‘til I screamed out, “I’m calling the cops right now you pricks!” that they took my meager assault a bit more seriously. They dispersed immediately, running in three different directions, shouting over their shoulders all the way. And during all this time, the homeless man and the teenagers had still been exchanging curses at the top of their lungs. As the boys disappeared down side streets, I approached the homeless man and asked him if he was okay. He was still pumped up from the experience and it took him a minute to calm down. The whole time he was gripping his arm that had been hit by the pole. He thanked me for my help and said that they had got his arm. He talked about how they were part of a gang and this thing happened all the time. I was stunned. It had been such a vicious attack – I guess I had always figured homeless people were harassed, but I thought such situations as terrible like this were rare.

Luckily, someone had called the cops, as a patrol car glided up to the man. By this time I had let the dogs free so they could frolic among the forest area. As soon as I saw the cops, I trotted up to them. I was afraid they wouldn’t believe the homeless man and think he was crazy. I told them everything I saw and asked if they knew who these boys could possibly be. They said things like this happen every night, but they didn't know who the boys were. The male policeman was surprised when I pointed to the big metal pole, now leaning against the park wall, and told him that had been hurled at the man. The cop hefted up the pole and grunted. He was stunned at how heavy it was. “They threw this?’ he asked in disbelief. “Yes!” I said, “I saw the whole thing.” I then pointed to the large metal trash can, now lying on its side a few feet from me and told how that had been their next cannon fodder. The police then told the homeless man to go over to 16th street where it would be “safer” and they drove around the area, though we all knew it would be in vain. We couldn’t identify them in the darkness.

I whistled to the dogs who ran up to me and jumped off the wall. I grabbed their leashes and started walking back to the house, down the same streets the boys had taken off on, and it was only then that I had a twinge of fear. I didn’t know who they were, but they would know me. I had two dogs, a bright yellow breaker on, and a ridiculous hat (it looked exactly like the one Han Solo and Luke Skywalker were wearing in the opening scene of the frozen planet in The Empire Strikes Back. All fur, all around my head). I was pretty identifiable. Would they try to retaliate? Truthfully, I wasn’t really that afraid, but it did occur to me to keep my eyes open. So everytime I passed a group of teenagers hanging around (and they were all over) I stared at them closely. Nothing happened. We got back to the house and I spent the rest of the night watching Forensic Files and eating cereal.

Effects Sideways

Hi, I’m back.

I just re-read my last post and wanted to jump out this 10th story window. Don’t worry, I won’t. They haven’t quite put me on suicide watch yet.

In fact, today, I am feeling great! For the most part, except for my laundry list of side effects. Let’s get into that, shall we? As previously reported, I am in a medical study to see if ingesting very high doses of anti-depression pills can “cure” someone of depression quickly and without the help of any therapy. Purely physiologically.

For the past week or two, I have been on the top doses of both the pills. It’s rather staggering. In the morning when I take my pile of pills, I think, “This can’t be right.”

The side effects have been the worse I’ve experience in my life, and yet, they’re all “liveable.” Well, kind of. I’m still trying to decide whether to junk this or not. I’m really the “grit your teeth and take it” kind of person if there’s a goal within sight (well, except for maybe exercising).

At first I started shaking. Nothing dramatic, just in such a way that I would be hard-pressed to thread a needle or to operate on a patient. Good thing I’m not a surgeon then! I felt unsteady all the time, like I was going to lose my balance at any point. I was a little bit nauseated all the time. My head would swim, especially if I turned it quickly. I would have to often stop for a second to gather my thoughts before performing an action, just a pause, but noticeable to me. And my usual foot jiggling that I do throughout the day accelerated into rapid fire jiggling and sudden, unpredictable jerks as if the country doctor hit your knee with one of those reaction hammers.

Fun, eh?

Then the worst part. My sleep was roughly disrupted. I would fall asleep fine enough since I am often exhausted by the time I climb into my lovely nest. And then…

I would wake up at 2am. I would go back to sleep.

I would wake up at 3:30am. I would go back to sleep again.

I would wake up at 5:15am. It was much harder to get back to sleep, and the alarm would be going off anyway at 6:30am.

Let me tell you, sleep deprivation is a powerful thing. It just turns you into a zombie-like, disoriented, grumpy, depressed, unfocused person (like I need more of that). I was beginning to panic. The solution? Cutting back on the pills, taking sleeping pills, or living with it.

The sleeping pill seemed like the best choice, but ANOTHER pill? How much can my body take? But how many more choppy nights of loss sleep can I take? In the end I went with the pill, and I take it, sometimes. I only take it if I can go to bed at a reasonable hour and it’s a weekday. I can’t believe I take sleeping pills now. I’ve turned into Elvis.

So here I am a few weeks later. Last week I felt like shit. Today, I feel better. Much better. I don’t if this is just a temporary thing or the beginning of the end. I’m hoping for the latter. I still have side effects to deal with, and though they are lessening, they are ever-present and aggravating.

This isn’t happening as fast as I had hoped. I mean, I was willing to steer through all the side effects if the barrage of pills did the trick – to cure me quick. Raise my serotonin levels, damn it! I know I’ll be fine. The waiting just sucks.

Fear of a President

I could go on and on and on about this election. About how I was so devastated by Bush's win, that I felt desperate and panicked. As a friend of mine said in so eloquently in an email:

Oh god.
Oh fuck.
Oh no.

I was so energized about voting and the election and the chance to remove fucking Bush from his despot-ways of ruling the world. The next day, it was like my mom died.

www.sorryeverybody.com Check it out for a laugh and a sigh. I'll be there too.

*sigh*