A Whole Week Off
I guess I shouldn't be sitting here blogging, I should be down in the Quarter doing my first daytime busking in months, maybe in more than a year.
|Glare blocking or gang symbol?|
I would be more pissed, though, after playing and making nothing than I would be "happy" after making a little bit, I have determined.
I took a Saturday night off, to go with Friday. This made for a whole week off, outside of a couple hours on Thursday night.
Of course, I'm broke and, of course, am wondering if I will find someone else playing at the Lilly Pad who had seen it open the whole weekend, and maybe had sat down and had one of the rare 200 dollar nights that the spot can always produce, instead of myself.
Such thinking can drive the busker crazy and lead to depression.
I had vivid dreams and woke up as depressed as ever this (Sunday) morning. Depressed like in the old days of drinking and consuming 5 energy drinks per day.
The dreams, too, were the typical ones, involving great heights at one point, and involving jamming with other musicians, one of them my brother (on drums) whom I haven't seen since I was his age 10 years ago. The sound in the dream was way out of balance, and at one point someone yelled "Pretty Woman," and I began playing the opening riff, but it was suddenly an electric guitar I held and I was missing notes...
The only thing missing in the dream-scape was being chased and finding myself unable to run, as if in quicksand.
Waking up feeling blue, I noted that I had left every light on in the place before having gone to sleep, and that I had screwed up Harold the cat's schedule by having overslept his normal feeding time.
Then I lay there with scenes of everything in my life that I regret and wish I could take back or do differently surfacing in random order. I threw a dart at my cat once, when I was about 13; intending to have it stick into the wall (we were in my dad's workshop) a foot or so above it, just to freak it out. The dart missed the wall and stuck into the cats rump. And the memory took its place in the slideshow that ran through my mind as I lay there this morning, realizing that I had taken the night off to sleep, and hadn't done so very well at all.
It was about 9 PM when I had made the decision to call the night off -probably just the second Saturday night that I have missed in 4 years, not counting when there were tropical storms raging.
I probably would have had about 40 dollars in my pocket now, rather than nothing, had I busked instead of taking the whole week off.
That is not a lot of money, a reflection upon the fact that I spend more when I am out there, on things that I only buy after I have made 10 times over their cost, such as the Sunday newspaper ($2.50) that takes me about 3 hours to read, longer if I do the crossword puzzle.
Sugar And Mood
Things could get really bad here. There has been a global effect to the slowness of the season, with bikes being stolen in broad daylight, etc.
These skeezers are like spoiled children. They will never know what it is like to go without, even though their whole "gimmick" is that they are forced to. When they are "desperate" (for cigarettes, alcohol etc.) they will steal. They have no choice, they don't even have money for beer!
It's too much for me to think about and try to figure out things right now. I know I need to do another water only fast; and take another stab at the addictions. It was useful to have discovered the link between sugar and mood, though.
I will need to stop smoking weed, as I don't have the luxury of being a scatterbrain with a short span of attention right now.
I Sour On Sucralose
The depression, I have deduced was caused by my having consumed a lot of "sucralose," which is a "zero calorie sweetener."
I was putting it in my coffee, my oat milk and even in a glass of tomato juice from a big can of it from the dollar store that was missing "something." -probably just watered down (what do you want for just a dollar) and hence, tasted less sweet because of dilution of fruit juices. Or is tomato a vegetable?
The result was poor quality sleep, from which I woke up repeatedly, depressed and too disoriented to get up and snap the lights off.
In the past, I had attributed this to being broke, but since I had consciously made the choice to sleep, rather than go out and play last night, I had kind of made peace with myself over it. I, instead, told myself that I had just avoided what would have been the worst Saturday night ever.
And so, through the agency of the water only fast and ensuing "elimination diet" in reverse (where you add foods one by one, rather than removing them) I was able to pinpoint sucralose, the sugar substitute as a likely cause of depression.
This doesn't surprise me. The two packets of Splenda® that I put in my oat milk, along with some cinnamon, and a pinch of salt made it taste extra sweet and delicious. Sweeter than just the plain oat milk can taste like ice cream, coming off a water fast.
And, so, the artificial sweetener it is bad for me.
Of course it is.
When will I take the hint and join a monastery, and live out my days in a bare room with a bed and a nightstand, upon which will be a bible and a glass of water?