9.18.99
Oy.
I've just realized that I start nearly every entry with an exclamation. Funny, no? I don't think it too amusing, but rather an obvious fact.
This last week has had me thinking about my so-called life, and why I do the things that I do. There have been some little things that have guided me on this trippy little trip as well as some events that have modified opinions about things in general. I should have written them all down as I came across them, but I didn't so I'm just a bit addled now.
First, a blatant rip-off from a comrade in Austin TX. On the CD right here right now is The Proclaimers one decent CD, Sunshine on Leith:
So, you say you've never heard of The Proclaimers? Saaad. I refer you to a cute Johnny Depp movie of several years ago called "Benny and Joon." Their tune, I'm gonna be (500 miles) was featured. It's a singsong and quite catchy tune sung with a STRONG Scottish accent by two way cute boiz. I picked it up in the bargain bin at Borders last week. I wasn't sure if I was ever going to see it again. Actually, last week, I cleaned my office (something that was way overdue, thank you) and I came across a tape single of that tune. I put it on the tape player, and came to a realization:
Magnetic tape will mold if given the proper environment.
Needless to say when I saw the red letters on the side of the jewel box at Borders, I was elated, and purchased it immediately. Big whoop, right? Right.
Now, I'm listening to it! It's amazing the power that eight little dollars and some change can have, isn't it?
I digress. I was talking about thinking about my life and what it means. It's fun to analyze your life, and to hold it up to the lives of others for the sake of comparison. Sometimes, your life looks normal and decent, other times; you shake your head and wonder how it is that you manage to survive. That, in a nutshell, is what I did last week, and the current reason for my recent silence.
I've also started to question my own mental stability. Not in that way, but from the standpoint of clinical diagnosis. You see, a friend of mine started on a natty drug regimen to equalize the amount of serotonin in his brain, and it has made me start to wonder if I would benefit from such therapy.
Serotonin is neat stuff. It's a chemical that decides how neurological signals are sent across the brain. You have too much, and the wrong signals are sent across, and too many objects are put into the conscious mind to be able to process it all. This results in a chaotic state in the brain, and in the mind as a whole, creates the mental condition that we call depression.
If you add a chemical to the brain that suppresses the amount of serotonin that is used by the brain, more simplistic thought comes to the forefront, and thus the patient is able to control the everyday ordinary events of the life.
With a smile.
Because it's easy!
That shit be called Prozac!!!!
However, that's not my problem. I'm not depressed. In fact, I read on, and through the help of table 189-2 in my handy little Merck Manual, I was able to determine that I was indeed not depressive.
That knowledge in hand, I moved on to determine exactly what it was that I am, and what pharmaceutical fix would be appropriate so I could march into Kaiser Permanente, demanding to be appropriately medicated.
Nothing fit really well, so I think I'll just roll along happily. I mean, I think I'm a tad manic, but in a benign rather nice way, and certainly not sufficiently to require the social repression that lithium salts and Depakote offer. I considered the bipolar disorders, but I don't think that my swings between "high" and "low" are driven by the subconscious. In fact, they are very much controlled by my personality. In fact, I turn the damn thing on when I get to work, and turn it off when I come home. RR recognized that immediately, and calls it "Work Bob." Thus, environmental factors rather than psychological ones control it.
Of course, there is yet another option…. I'm just as fucked up as the rest of the rest of you. I think its called being normal.
But you know what? Enough about me. Let's talk about you. Last week, I made a new friend. One who writes the most delicious naughty stories. He came out of the blue, and sent me these two HUUUUGE emails asking all manner of questions about the things that I had written in my journals. It's quite obvious that he's read the whole thing, and I have just one thing to say about that:
Kicks ass.
After all, the reason this thing is here is to have it read by people. Any time someone reads my words and comments about my thoughts (be it for good or bad,) it thrills me! In this so-called "Online Journal Community," that seems to be the thing that fuels our ability to publish these things: Feedback. When some bloke called Evan sends me a gazillion words of praise, what can I say besides "Take me to bed!!!"
Well, dears, there are a lot of other things that I wanted to discuss, but I have to act as if I have a life, and sign off. Besides, I just found my nuclear waste marble and want to go play with it. Yes, it is a marble produced by the US Department of Energy to show exactly how safe spent nuclear fuel can be. Your government is making children's toys from dead plutonium. Yee haw!
I've just realized that I start nearly every entry with an exclamation. Funny, no? I don't think it too amusing, but rather an obvious fact.
This last week has had me thinking about my so-called life, and why I do the things that I do. There have been some little things that have guided me on this trippy little trip as well as some events that have modified opinions about things in general. I should have written them all down as I came across them, but I didn't so I'm just a bit addled now.
First, a blatant rip-off from a comrade in Austin TX. On the CD right here right now is The Proclaimers one decent CD, Sunshine on Leith:
I can tell the meaning of a word like serene
I got some O grades when I was sixteen
I can tell the difference between margarine and butter
I can say "Saskatchewan" without starting to stutter.
So, you say you've never heard of The Proclaimers? Saaad. I refer you to a cute Johnny Depp movie of several years ago called "Benny and Joon." Their tune, I'm gonna be (500 miles) was featured. It's a singsong and quite catchy tune sung with a STRONG Scottish accent by two way cute boiz. I picked it up in the bargain bin at Borders last week. I wasn't sure if I was ever going to see it again. Actually, last week, I cleaned my office (something that was way overdue, thank you) and I came across a tape single of that tune. I put it on the tape player, and came to a realization:
Magnetic tape will mold if given the proper environment.
Needless to say when I saw the red letters on the side of the jewel box at Borders, I was elated, and purchased it immediately. Big whoop, right? Right.
Now, I'm listening to it! It's amazing the power that eight little dollars and some change can have, isn't it?
I digress. I was talking about thinking about my life and what it means. It's fun to analyze your life, and to hold it up to the lives of others for the sake of comparison. Sometimes, your life looks normal and decent, other times; you shake your head and wonder how it is that you manage to survive. That, in a nutshell, is what I did last week, and the current reason for my recent silence.
I've also started to question my own mental stability. Not in that way, but from the standpoint of clinical diagnosis. You see, a friend of mine started on a natty drug regimen to equalize the amount of serotonin in his brain, and it has made me start to wonder if I would benefit from such therapy.
Serotonin is neat stuff. It's a chemical that decides how neurological signals are sent across the brain. You have too much, and the wrong signals are sent across, and too many objects are put into the conscious mind to be able to process it all. This results in a chaotic state in the brain, and in the mind as a whole, creates the mental condition that we call depression.
If you add a chemical to the brain that suppresses the amount of serotonin that is used by the brain, more simplistic thought comes to the forefront, and thus the patient is able to control the everyday ordinary events of the life.
With a smile.
Because it's easy!
That shit be called Prozac!!!!
However, that's not my problem. I'm not depressed. In fact, I read on, and through the help of table 189-2 in my handy little Merck Manual, I was able to determine that I was indeed not depressive.
That knowledge in hand, I moved on to determine exactly what it was that I am, and what pharmaceutical fix would be appropriate so I could march into Kaiser Permanente, demanding to be appropriately medicated.
Nothing fit really well, so I think I'll just roll along happily. I mean, I think I'm a tad manic, but in a benign rather nice way, and certainly not sufficiently to require the social repression that lithium salts and Depakote offer. I considered the bipolar disorders, but I don't think that my swings between "high" and "low" are driven by the subconscious. In fact, they are very much controlled by my personality. In fact, I turn the damn thing on when I get to work, and turn it off when I come home. RR recognized that immediately, and calls it "Work Bob." Thus, environmental factors rather than psychological ones control it.
Of course, there is yet another option…. I'm just as fucked up as the rest of the rest of you. I think its called being normal.
But you know what? Enough about me. Let's talk about you. Last week, I made a new friend. One who writes the most delicious naughty stories. He came out of the blue, and sent me these two HUUUUGE emails asking all manner of questions about the things that I had written in my journals. It's quite obvious that he's read the whole thing, and I have just one thing to say about that:
Kicks ass.
After all, the reason this thing is here is to have it read by people. Any time someone reads my words and comments about my thoughts (be it for good or bad,) it thrills me! In this so-called "Online Journal Community," that seems to be the thing that fuels our ability to publish these things: Feedback. When some bloke called Evan sends me a gazillion words of praise, what can I say besides "Take me to bed!!!"
Well, dears, there are a lot of other things that I wanted to discuss, but I have to act as if I have a life, and sign off. Besides, I just found my nuclear waste marble and want to go play with it. Yes, it is a marble produced by the US Department of Energy to show exactly how safe spent nuclear fuel can be. Your government is making children's toys from dead plutonium. Yee haw!
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