Control: Disaster Cometh

I am blogging every day now for a while if I can. I am blogging because something has changed in my life, something fundamental and very real. Read on…

I, Dalton Lewis — not my real name — was living my normal, banal life, swimming through a miserable existence of empty blues and no land in sight. I played Warhammer 40k poorly as I usually do. I went 2–1 for fourth place out of 12 people, a better showing than I often do. That’s not bad. I used primaris marines and immediately, within forty-eight hours, ditched them for necrons, the dead robots. Suggestion: spam dead robots. They’re great.

I went to Quizno’s because my friends wanted to go to Quizno’s because it’s cheap and tasty and money isn’t infinite and we had spent plenty to get there, eat out while there, and buy the miniatures for a ridiculously expensive, overly elaborate game of toy soldiers. I went outside after the dinner.

“We’d better go,” I said. “I’m getting tired, and it’s late.”

“Yeah,” a friend said. “I agree. I’m going to go home and sleep. Open up a window, this is the best sleeping weather.”

I drove home, and something happened. I began to talk to the voices inside of my head. This isn’t particularly strange or unusual for me, a schizophrenic man in America, a common geek, a strange and eccentric genius writer, one of many. I also felt a little tired, but that didn’t matter. I just struggled a little bit on the wheel, and then I made it home. I didn’t have any trouble on the highway or anything.


No, the accident happened the next day.

I was looking away, and I don’t remember why. I was tired, but that’s normal. I’m schizophrenic and have been on meds that slow me down for fifteen years. I’m always tired. That’s nothing. But this…this was different. It had become a situation in which I couldn’t drive carefully and precisely.

So, until I am less tired, I don’t drive any longer.

As far as the accident goes, I rear-ended someone’s minivan with my car. Both the father and son seemed fine. They seemed Arabic, if you asked me. They were incredibly nice and didn’t seem too mad. You should look at his minivan — virtually no damage. My car — almost wrecked. I was glad. I wouldn’t want it the other way around.

I waited for a nice police officer to show up and thanked him for giving me my ticket, which impressed him. I always thank people when they punish me for something I did wrong.

Then my dad picked me up and I told him that I couldn’t drive any longer. He wasn’t delighted, of course, but he decided to take me in free of charge. He invited me to live with him and my mom, who have been married for a very long time. Within a day I had moved to my parents’ house. I am thirty-nine years old and not capable of living on my own.

Life is difficult and complicated and this is one of those times. I have a room downstairs, and my parents are upstairs, which happened throughout my twenties as well, in a different house. I am delighted to say that it went fine last time and will go fine now.

I might eat better. I might get a stronger metabolism and not fall asleep several times a day. Who knows? Time will tell. Right now — I don’t drive anymore. I need rides. That’s all. No one died. No one suspended my license. I just don’t feel comfortable driving right now. That’s all.

Thanks, and take care, friends.