..are the seeds of my unbridled energy unfurled unto the unsuspecting (but perfectly plowed) cyberfield.
I don’t suppose I have a purpose for finally entering the 21st century and unloading each and every one of my unfiltered whims and reveries. I must admit, writing down even the nonsense I concoct in that ephemeral bridge between dream and reality… it helps. my overworked brain is actually quite relieved to see (hear?) the chatter manifested, external, the incessant, maddening chatter that lines the walls of my mind like the regrettable wallpapering choices of decades past. Having written two, perhaps three sentences of a blogpost (wisened, in my vast wisdom and extensive experience), I am pleased to inform you that blogging is the new Valium. Or Prozac. Or whatever else the British Journal of Medicine finds the most favorable clinical trials on (true story).
I suppose the real reason I’m writing a blog (a blog… it still sounds so frivolous and nerdy) is to dish out little slices of my jumbled psyche and perhaps show the world a little bit about ADHD, about psychotropic medications, about the fascinating phenomena colliding, exploding in your brain — about the phenomena exploding in MY brain. And so on. The misconceptions about mental disorders (surprisingly, considering our era’s progressive attitudes) run rampant, sticking much like that wallpaper we talked about (I know that everyone, somewhere has gazed one too many times on the decorative plunders of yesteryear — don’t tell me you can’t relate!) to the victims of poorly understood conditions; the stigma alone can discard any and all impressions one may have had. Once labeled with a mental disorder, you are — in society’s heart of hearts, anyway — you are quietly transferred to the category of “functionally insane.” To save face, you will not be handed an eviction notice, but rather, a pitiful look and a forced laugh. I’d rather eat tacks for snacks — and yes, I did just make an angsty teen band reference; I am entitled to my past! I’m rather fond of the term “functionally insane,” I must say; I think the trend as of late has been not, under any circumstances, to ostracize the mentally ill, though it seems a bitter pill to swallow. One hears tales of schizophrenics who lead normal lives as long as they comply with their medication. The madman hearing voices is miraculously cured, and society declares it’s ready to accept the reformed loon, but I can see terror in their eyes as they ponder the possibility of the single missed dose that sent the newly sane citizen back over the edge toward his disquieting blur of self and surrounding.
Alas, the rambling has already begun. I had hoped to keep it in check — such is the plight of an overcaffeinated squirrel cracked out on PCP, as an acquaintance once described me. I couldn’t tell if it was condescension or endearment that elicited such an unusual remark, but I have since come to accept myself for who I am: an overcaffeinated squirrel cracked out on PCP. Although I would never admit it to his stupid jerk face with his dumb jerk mouth, it is both accurate and amusing (but I hope the government has stopped those animal experiments with various hallucinogenics — if you’re ever bored/looking to be horrified, look up “cat on LSD” on youtube. I’ll see you in hell).
And this is where I conclude the errant wanderings of my cyberpen (or cyberhoe, I suppose? because of the cyberfarm I’m apparently running? metaphorical consistency is crucial!). In the future, I hope to arrive at a point, perhaps, or maybe even just convey some sort of information. Just one fact, at the very least. Like a snapple cap fact. Note to self: buy snapple… In any case, I am worthless at properly concluding anything in my life, and so it goes with this blog post. Suddenly — like Rick Perry’s swift apology for whatever racist thing he did. Or the invasion of ants in the corner of your bedroom (true story; I am not, however, equally swift to counterstrike… hopefully my lease will be up before any real confrontation arises).