There is a law that says hospital emergency departments have to accept patients. They aren't allowed to turn them away. They're wide open and exposed to everyone who wanders in. Sometimes I feel like that. I am overwhelmed with the experience of everyone who walks in or walks by. I am forced to accept them. All of them. I am not allowed to ignore them. They throw photons and sonic compression waves at me and these drown out everything else. I interpret them all into sounds and pictures and ideas, and then I reinterpret them over and over and over again.
I was trying to tell jokes to the audience, but I could never get to the punchline before I started weeping. I would always lose my composure and end up standing there, shaking with silent sobbing while the people squirmed uncomfortably in their seats. "I'm sorry," I would say, sniffing and wiping my eyes with my sleeve. "This really funny stuff, I swear. I'm just having some kind of trouble or something." The owner told me not to come back.
The boss wants to get a group together to play video games, like a team or something. "Oh. Uh...," I said. "Are you a gamer?" he asked. "Well, uh... no. Not really." I hate computer games. I'm not sure why. What am I supposed to say? He said, "Oh, okay. Just curious. Thanks." He walked out. I'm plagued by worries that I've made some kind of mistake, that I should have lied, faked enthusiasm. "I don't like it either, Honey, but I think it helps my job security," I could tell my wife. "It's just six hours each night. And weekends."
I had a dream thet Kurt Cobain got on antidepressants, dropped out of the music scene and opened a little vegetarian cafe. He married a nice lady, a librarian, and had three sons and two daughters. He lived to be a grandfather and even a great grandfather. He died happy. I told a few people about the dream. They all seemed to think it would be sad to see that happen to Kurt Cobain. People need Kurt Cobain to be Kurt Cobain.
People will kill you or steal you or change you or use you all up if you let them. They don't mean any harm. Everyone has needs all of the time. It's simple economics.