Fun Times

While cleaning up at the morgue it struck me how much I miss the smell of formalin and bleach. Sure when used together it can create chlorine gas, fomic acid, hydrochloric acid fumes, chlorine oxides and possibly other hazardous by-products of chemical interaction, such as BCME (bis-chloromethyl ether), a very dangerous, neurotoxic gas. In other words, a very toxic witches brew of many hazardous chemicals... but it smells like the mortuary. I think I kind of miss working there.

Sure, TDC thinks ripping apart bodies and playing with them is hilarious. It's great fun. Hell, I can actually say I have really good coworkers at the morgue because we mess around and go out and they know me for who I am. How often am I going to get that in life? I've spent my whole life as a shadow creature creating a human persona.

Yet I crave the cleanliness and order that the mortuary brought. I miss creating my deranged art. I like tearing bodies down, but I am used to turning them into something beautiful. Something worth seeing. Something better than they were before they died.

Squishy

Yesterday was my first day back at work. It. Was. Fabulous. By definition, I am not a necrophile. I have no desire to have sex with corpses, nor am I at all turned on by them. But I have a twisted desire to be around them. To run my hands over dead flesh. To hold once beating hearts in my hands. And occasionally pretend to eat them while making omnomnom sounds. It is always a plus when other techs throw up from my behavior. That amuses me.

After cutting off the scull cap and removing the brain, I was struck with a bit of inspiration courtesy of Finding Nemo. I cradled the brain like a small child and using a Dory voice said "I shall call you Squishy and you shall be mine and you shall be my Squishy!" Dr. K stopped me and went to take the brain to start his examination. I slapped him, and in the same voice said "BAD! My Squishy!"

I enjoy work a little too much.

Revenge

They say revenge is a dish best eaten cold. Of course, you can eat it hot, too. It's particularly good with croutons. And by croutons I mean a hammer. I can carry a grudge until the extinction of the cockroach, so people should know not to mess with me. It's a really stupid idea. I tried asking Dr. K to take down his xanga account. I told him to take down his xanga account. I demanded he take down his xanga account. He refused all three times. Now his laptop has met an untimely end. The hammer probably has a lot to do with that.

No friends are worth the compulsive desire of success, wealth and power. The people who try to pour themselves completely into jobs, friends and family usually go 0 for 3. It's just not worth it for me. I have other job offers out there if he fires me, and I have no problem relocating. I just don't give a shit at this point. And not giving a shit is big mojo. I don't care what other people think. I don't care what other people feel. I'm keeping my eyes open for what's best for me.

Time To Cheat

It's always nice to be around someone who thinks I'm wonderful. It confirms my low opinion of people. I mean, come on, what can possibly be cute about someone who would rather cut you open than shake your hand? I have no desire to decipher human behavior, and I'm starting to wonder if that is all Dr. K is. I was starting to hope he was something more. Something better. Something like me.

I suppose it's my own fault that he likes me. I bring this on myself with my psychopathic ways. I'm a social chameleon and have had to deal with this before. Psychopaths are known for their ability to don many masks, change who they are depending upon whom they are interacting, and make themselves likable to their intended victims. Narcissistic people will find me to be solicitous of their need to get attention. Anxious people find me non-threatening and reassuring. Many find me exciting and fun to be with. Few will suspect they are dealing with a psychopath who is playing up their personality and vulnerabilities.

In the great card game of life, I know what cards you hold and how to cheat. Now, if only I can swindle my way out of Dr. K's view without jeopardizing my job...

Drugged Ramble

Sometimes, when I'm all alone and it's night outside and the darkness is spilling everywhere, I can feel a stillness in the world. As I sit there and listen to that stillness I feel empty and alone and, sometimes, even a little bit of unrest. It's like - have you ever been outside on a cold, winter night when it's pitch black in the sky and the wind is cold enough to freeze your nose hairs and something in the air mutes the ambient sound and it just feels like your the only person in the world?

I feel like that all the time. That emptiness. That stillness inside. No emotions, no feelings, just nothing. But at times, when I'm listening close, the pitch of that stillness changes. It becomes like, like a rolling blackness that's blacker than the darkest night. I know it doesn't make any sense, but it's like the silence itself becomes deafening and you can almost hear noises and words. A voice. That stillness within the roar of noise within the silence of the void comes around me and consumes me and with it comes an awareness. A feeling of power and control and hunger and rage all rolled into one. And it feeds off each other.

The rage feeds the hunger and the hunger feeds the rage which feeds the power and with it comes both a feeling of loss of control and great amounts of control and power that can consume the world. I know it's confusing as hell when I try to explain it, but in the midst of the maelstrom and the stillness, it's all one. It all becomes a part of me and already is a part of me and all feeds on itself. And it has a call-sign to it. A feeling. A hunger.

Company

It's a little disturbing to wake up to someone sleeping in your house when you are used to living alone. I can't remember if Dr. K was here when I went to sleep last night or not. When I woke up a few minutes ago I almost threw my laptop at him as a reflex, but a $2,000 MacBook Air isn't my idea of a good weapon so I threw the water bottle that was sitting on the floor next to the couch instead. Was that there when I fell asleep either? I don't remember... He threw it back and told me to go back to sleep. I almost always wake up around this time. I should be getting ready for work. Stupid doctor, expecting me to sleep in.

Is it just me, or is he taking an oddly vested interest in me? This guy hunts me down for a number of years trying to hire me. Asks me to dinner. Pays to clear up legal issues so I can leave the country. Stays with me when I'm injured. I don't understand. Does he expect something of me? He says he knows that I am psychopathic, so he should knows that brings along the inability to feel anything for him, and to be honest, I see that in him as well. Maybe he is just playing me. If he is, he's just a jerk.

And when a man's a jerk, it doesn't matter that he's a good looking doctor, which, Dr. K certainly is. Really, so what if he has gorgeous blue eyes and a radiant smile that would bring a normal human girl to their knees? What good is that if he's a psychopathic jerk? And bulging biceps that ripple when he walks. Who cares? And his rear? Oh, sure, it's firm, perfectly shaped and tightly packed. The kind of ass you want to walk up and squeeze just for the hell of it. But he's probably just a jerk, so what does all that matter...

Since I am obviously not going to work this morning, I'm going to go back to reading. I can't read a book a day without spending some time at it. Hopefully I can reach a new one and my pain pills as well.

You're Getting Sleepy

No, wait, that would be me. For some asinine reason I have been requiring more sleep lately. Perhaps the medication I have been taking to stabilize my sleep is working. I must admit, it's been quite lovely being able to sleep for a full 5 hours without waking up and not having cataplexy attacks during the day. When I used to wake multiple times a night there was no helping anyone around me. I tend to attack the closest living person if my sleep is disturbed.

I have gone off topic from what I wanted to write about tonight. Well, not too far off topic because I wanted to ask people about their falling to sleep habits. What keeps you awake at night if you're one of those people who can't sleep? Or what do you think about to lull yourself to sleep?

For me, if I am having trouble falling asleep it is because I have started thinking in numbers. It sounds strange, I know. But my mind is fueled by numbers. I can spend hours translating sentences into a numerical code and whittle it down to one perfect little digit. For example, I'll translate sentences like:

"Remember kids, that rabid squirrel and your twins sock drawer are a perfect match."

Every letter is assigned a number based on where it is in the alphabet. So "remember" would be 18... 5... 13... 5... 13... 2... 5... 18. Then I add those together to get 61. Then add 6 to 1 and "remember" equals 7. If you do that for the whole sentence it equals 3.

The final number determines the number of tries I have to alter the sentence to get it to equal 1. You can see how this game can be a sleeping distraction.

On the nights that I am fully able to sleep and not plagued with number flowing through my head, I image an elaborate Hall Of Terrors I have dreamed of developing. Room one is pit filled with venomous snakes. Room two has a giant robot bear that I call Bailey. He approaches whomever I put in the chamber in a non threatening, Teddy Bear way and in a happy voice says "will you be my best friend in the whole world"? Then a 9 inch drill bit bursts out of his left paw and 3 inch blades burst out of his right where claws would be. If Bailey were a real bear. One quick swing and the bit begins to whirring in a menacing, your-skull-is-toast kind of way.

But enough about my sleep routine. I'm sure that nobody wants me to continue the tour of the Hall Of Torture. (Yes, I call it both.) What I am curious about is what other people think of when they go to sleep. So, what is it?

Antisocial Personality Disorder

Many people are confused about the difference among psychopathy, sociopathy and antisocial personality disorder. Although the terms frequently are treated as if they are interchangeable-by the general public and professionals alike-they refer to related but not identical conditions. Evidently there isn't a lot of good information in it out there because two different people have asked me to explain this...

Psychopathy is a personality disorder. Psychopaths are without conscience and incapable of empathy, guilt or loyalty to anyone but themselves.

Sociopathy is not a formal psychiatric condition. It refers to patterns of attitudes and behaviors that are considered criminal and antisocial by society at large, but are seen as normal or necessary by the subculture or social environment in which they developed. Sociopaths may have a well developed conscience and a normal capacity for empathy, guilt and loyalty, but their sense of right and wrong is based on the norms and expectations of their subculture or group. Many criminals are described as sociopaths.

Antisocial personality disorder (ASPD) is a broad diagnostic category found in the DSM-IV. Antisocial and criminal behaviors play a major role in its definition and, in this sense, ASPD is similar to sociopathy. Some of those with ASPD are psychopaths (like me), but many are not. The difference between antisocial personality disorder and psychopathy is the latter includes personality traits such as lack of empathy, grandiosity and shallow emotion that are not necessary for a diagnosis of ASPD.

Doesn't Anyone Actually Die Anymore?

I really dislike when things aren't the way they should be. When I go to work, I expect to be left alone and to have a body or two waiting for me to practice my fine art. When I show up to an annoying yapper and no corpses, it's as if I'm spinning sideways. Where is the death I surround myself with? Why is this obnoxious creature breathing my air? After twenty short minutes I walked out. Clearly not needed.

My Replacement

Given enough time, I am sure that I could come up with a topic less interesting than Susans' new haircut and sneakers, and probably an entire list of people more unpleasant to be around. But as I was standing over a perfectly beautiful and rapidly decaying 30 year old, I wasn't inspired to think of anything worse than being graced with her company. I simply kept my head down to avoid telling her what an absolute idiot I think she is and continued on my work, trying to ignore her. Ordinarily, embalming a handsome young man would have comforted me, hell, lifted my spirits, made me feel at home. But for some reason the shadow of the constantly talking twit standing beside me took away the glow. It's terribly frustrating to think about having to work with her again tomorrow instead of watching her thrash about, wrapped in duct tape.

My almighty superior thought it would be a good idea for me to help her get a feel of the place. I don't really understand why. There are several things I am good at, and some of them can actually be legally performed in public. I am not shy about admitting my modest talents. For example, I am better than average at preparing a body for a funeral, and I also have an uncanny flair for getting the people I need to like me. However, to be fair to myself, I am ever-ready to confess my short-comings, too. For example, teaching someone the ropes or breathing underwater. I don't really see a way to rectify either.

Century

A hundred years. What an incomprehensible amount of time to be alive. My whole life I have assumed I would die long before my 50th birthday, after all, early death runs in my family and I am a notorious risk taker. But today I pondered the thought of living a full century.

What brought this on, you may be wondering. As with most things, it was work related. I was working on a delightful looking elderly woman when I, by chance, noticed her age. She looked a lot younger than her one hundred years. Usually I am quite cranky when I have to perfect the elderly. There is a lot of loose skin to work with and families don't like when you take twenty years off of them. But this woman was different. She stuck me as someone who might have been interesting to know as a living person. (Me, want to talk to someone living?) Maybe I found an age group I have a fondness for... the over 100's.