I do not know if I am schizotypal or mildly autistic. I tend to be very lock-step and to have fixed routines in my eating, sleeping, shopping and grooming habits. I've been slowly breaking the hold of various neuroses on my life, but it is sometimes difficult to change when one way is all one has known for an entire lifetime.

I shop at the supermarket several times a day because I have trouble planning the practical too far into the future. Wegmans in Ocean Township is one of my haunts. I go there at least once a day to buy necessities.

However, I do not use a discount card because it is not "noble" to use a discount card. An extremely juvenile part of myself believes that it is "cheating", "unfair", maybe even close to outright theft. As a spiritual aristocrat, I am above dabbling in such base actions!

I also want both fame and anonymity. I want the world to know and appreciate my brilliance, but I also do not want strangers to acknowledge my various eccentricities.

This was ruined for me by an ambitious negress at Wegman's. She was fact. Probably conservative, reactionary and easily shocked. Very outgoing with normal people.

She had the shortest line so I went to her. After she checked me out she said: "You should get a discount card. You're in here all the time."

GODAMMIT! So they NOTICE that I am always in there. They probably talk about what a weirdo I am. I just want to blend in enough to do my damn shopping!

I always wanted to be a celebrity. I never thought I would find fame as the village weirdo. Don't you think if I wanted a discount card I would have gotten one by now.

But in addition to being too noble for a discounty card, I am also too SHY to ask for a discount card. I mean, actually going up to the counter and filling out a piece of paper is terrifying to me.

So, now Wegman's is ruined for me. Thanks, bitch.

Last night I pulled into my driveway. I saw a raccoon scuttle along the roof of my neighbor's shed. I'm afraid of being bit by a raccoon. I'm afraid of contracting rabies. I'm afraid a critter will bite me in my sleep and I will not know it. I will not seek treatment. I will die of rabies. This is, of course, OCD nonsense. My OCD is on the ropes and very close to being defeated, but it still rears its ugly head when given the least stimulus. If a raccoon bit me at anytime I would damn well know it! Those things have damn sharp teeth!

Last night it was raining. Despite hysterical news reports I did not think it was raining that hard. I suppose it is only because there are flooding issues in North Jersey.

I heard noises on the portion of my roof that is directly above my bathroom. I could not tell if the scraping sounds were animal claws or tree branches. The wind was not particularly heavy, so I thought it may have been raccoons. However, I heard none of the characteristic raccoon squeaking noises.

I also heard noises in the kitchen ceiling directly under the bathroom. there is a hole in that ceiling directly above the sink. The hole was formed in 2005 due to a leak from the bathroom floor. The hole has been there for years. At times wood, concrete and various other silt-like pebbles fall from this hole.

Would the sorry state of my house make it easy for raccoons to enter? All sorts of noises.

The noises were really the house falling apart. It must be increasingly difficult for it to stand up to weather. The rain was causing the problems. If raccoons made it into the house the entire house would have been destroyed. Those animals cause massive damage.

Something needs to be done. That house has been impacting my health for years. It floods, it crumbles, it's overwhelmed with dust and mold. It smells like mildew. I strongly suspect that the state of my environment has contributed to the depression that I have suffered for about 4 of the 6 years that I was there.

I'm grateful to at least have a roof over my head (even if I am not sure if it bars animals from the premises) but I really can't wait to leave. I'm so sick of living in dust and mold. I haven't smoked a cigarette in years and each morning when I wake up I feel like I smoked a whole pack the night before.

Part of my permanent defeat of misery will be an escape from miserable surroundings. But what am I to do? I have no money. I really need to write a best-selling novel. I'm working on it. Working hard. But not hard enough.