Frightened Rabbit – Live at Urban Outfitters

One of them wastes my time
One of them makes me fat
I don’t like sleeping and eating
I guess I’m not a cat

One of them’s too expensive
One of them is too free
I don’t like sleeping and eating
Though they’re both necessary

Did you like it? That’s a sneak peek preview of my new song, “Sleeping vs Eating” that’ll be coming out this summer. It’ll be credited to “Broken Social Scene,” my front band, but you know that it’s m-AAAUUGGH.

So, I definitely need some psychiatric help. It’s only ten in the morning, but I feel like I’ve been awake forever, writhing in bed and whimpering to nobody. No, really. I’m all weak, probably from not eating in over a day. This isn’t particularly unusual for me, as I get it into my head five to ten times a year that I should stop eating entirely. This rarely lasts more than a day, and never more than two, so I’m not very good at sticking with things sometimes. When I’m like this I don’t want to get better. Right now all I can think about is being miserable and weak physically, and unloved and resentful. I’m upset at my friends and my girlfriend and all that, but the latter is unfounded and I think it’s unlikely that she was, in fact, fucking one of my friends last night like my mind tells me. I don’t want to feel better because that means facing awful shame and apologizing to everyone around me instead of staying here shaky and miserable and sad. Also I’m horrifically hungover, the result of whiskey on an empty stomach. I feel like I might throw up at any point here.

Getting a psychiatrist is tough, though, and I tried gamely last year with little success. I can’t afford a real one, so I have to go to who the state sends me to after considerable delay, and the two I got last year were just awful, one of whom was of the “it’s all in your mind” variety and essentially told me to just try harder, and the second was a hunched over old man who talked about god a lot (I think he thought I was religiously Jewish instead of a staunch atheist). Trying again means first means trying to get a doctor’s appointment, which is quite difficult, then admitting I can’t take care of myself, then waiting for a shrink, then hoping he or she isn’t a waste of time. It’s pretty heavy when I’m mired here, struggling to get through paragraphs without degrading into disgusting self-flagellation, as opposed to merely being boring and whiny.
SLeepingand eating?

Live albums are pretty whogives, and this performance, fairly mediocre with banter sounding a bit annoyed and a fake Bob Dylan story, recorded in a clothing store. My head hurts and is getting feverish.

5/10

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