I simply don't have a title today. I want an editor!

Oh no. I think it's indeed ADD. As I mentioned, I stopped taking my adderral. Well, that effort to rid myself of any unnatural substances was a flop. I felt very out of whack. I got my prescription filled today and look at me: Bloggin away and muffins baking. I even had my housekeeper teach me how to mop. Life can be long and one never knows.


So, for today I feel confident about my diagnosis. Last month I was sure it was bipolar 2-- Which for the unaware is a lesser form of what is commonly known as manic depression. About 8 months or so ago, I just was standing in the ariel durant library( yums) and I saw a book called, "touched by fire." by Kay redfield and I picked it up. Fascinating read even if you are one of the lucky onces and can just read it for pleasure.
So, that book and then another I took out a week letter made me confident of my "issue." I can get high as a kite(more on cliches later) and low as a puddle(more on cliches that are not in existence later) and yet the image I'd had (from books and movies)of manic depression is one of real heavy wackiness-- jumping off boats and participating in orgies and not sleeping for weeks. Since I always sleep and never jumped off a boat or even entertained the idea of an orgy I dissmissed that diagnosis.

But with bipolar 2 I had all the symtoms and so...
So, nothing really. I have not sought treatment for it. I can't imagine changing too drastically. I am 33-39 years old and I am like an old shoe to myself. So for now I feel that it is probably bipolar 2 with ADHD . and a dollop of whoopass.

This will all hopefully lead to other ideas I want to express. I was picking out nectarines at the jons on labrea and man oh man did I want to blog some.

And, so eventually I was able to spend this time with you sweet sweet blog. I now know that I indeed have some real humans out there reading my babble.
I feel even more committed to ridding myself of a day job. Oh how I hate those.. I am going to really start taking myself seriously as a blogger and maybe with a little prayer here and there, some core excercise, finally finding my center etc, I'll not have to leave my house for money.
Oh, I forgot I'm a wealthy soccer mom. I get myself confused with the larger boned spinster sister sometimes.

Anyhow. I think I have to start bulleting. I don't yet know how to do that.

So I'll doing it like this.

Diagnosis Epidemic.

My two friggin cents

So know June 29th 2008- I am the add or ahdd and to be honest, my leg is a little restless. And now that I am laying myself so very naked in front of you-- I have restless arms too. Restless feet and hands too. Terrible.

My ass is the only part of me that feels sedate. Terrible.

So, I am compelled to blog today for various reasons but the most pressing one is that I am gushing over with frustrated thoughts and emotions. Nothing new there. But, this is the first time I've been able to type it out in such a way.

Recently I've been diagnosed by strangers as many things. It is getting truly comical. I am just as guilty of it. I throw around DSM hearsay constantly. But, when it's turned on you you've got to re-think. And re-think and re-think I have.

Some conclusions: It is out of control. Psychobabble has now really permeated our society to a dangerous degree. It is everywhere and it is babylonian in scope. Sure, there are sociopaths or psycho paths or crazy antisocial types. But, all that gray area in between is being clouded and is just making life less poetic or beautiful or magical or whatever it is that life can sometimes be.

And it's not just arm chair psychologists that are to be avoided and/or scrutinized. It's the degreed ones too especially those with degrees in social work. Let's not even get into Doctor Phil's fortune and how it was built on the widespread selling of this mortifying phenomenon

The ones with ph.d or Md's: They need to get tenures or published or special recognitions and they are really nude emperors if you think about long and hard.

Everyone and everything is a nudie emperor, if you think long and hard enough.
I have tons of theories and even hypothesis's for my darling viewers but long and hard and naked emperors make me want to talk about-- cliches.

(get your mind out of the gutter)

On the short drive home from Jons Market( a magnificent marktet btw) I thought of sticks and stones and how they break bones and how names do harm you. And this made me think about how this is so at the core of life. Names and name calling and aspersions cast or set in stone and surving it all to try and succeeding more and more and not letting them... harm you. Cliches get interesting as I get older. Some stand the test of time and some must be discarded. Stick and stones is a good one and I'll get into that later. Cute as a button and mad as a hatter have not stood the test of time. If buttons were cute we'd all wear them all the time and be happier and hatters are hardly mad. Thank you very much. If this knocked your socks off than ... so what. Seriously, why would the knocking of socks off the feet be a good thing? And let's not even get into the poor dogs. Sick as a dog( woof huh?) dog tired( the dog is thinking-- I always get my 8 hours, bitch) and so many other dog cliches it is overwhelming. They are one of our most favored housepets and yet we use the word "dog." as a slur(cur?) so very often.

Now that I am for quite some time not officially young I can speak from experience about some cliches that should stay. When I was a plump and overly unconforming child any incident where I was the recipient of misunderstanding or cruelty or false impression-- seared me. Made me cry and suffer and curse my faith and fate and my slight fatness. I was shy and scared and lisa karpul and karen kessler were capable of leaving me in a heap. My mother one day said something that changed my life completely. It wasn't a cliche. I was 13. we were talking about my shyness and she said, " Shyness is arrogance." We discussed it more and we talked about how shyness was really connected to some assumption that anyone gives a damn about you. Sure, some will and so do but most people are not paying very close attention to anyone but themselves. I thought and thought about it for years and years and by the time I was 21 I think I'd rid myself of accepting my shyness and letting myself live under the illusion that people were interested in much more than themselves. It's there, the shyness, maybe it should be called a different name, but it's there. I just constantly remind myself that shyness is connected to not only arrogance but to cowardliness. The struggle to overcome any belief that we are the center of the universe is, I think, a worthy and thrilling one. And, because I've just look at the time and there is a time constraint I'll have to leave this blog entry as incomplete. And just type away till time runs out.

I very much doubt it but I hope my desire to share some premise got across somehow. And, that is...

Names should not harm you. And year by year cliches like "you can't please all of the people all of the time" become downright profound.

I see so much "shyness." or cowardliness everywhere. It is beyond enervating to me to be stuck in so many situations where I get the strongest sense of ... fear.

People(not all- but most) are overly cautios and I think that our society is acting even more inhibited than ever because names have gotten more insidious and people feel incapable of fighting them.

Pychobabble names that are zipping our collective lips:

Borderline, narcissist blah blah dsm , obsessed, stalker, get a life(??) lifestyle...

On any message board where there is literacy beyond... u are cool lol. I heart justin, you will see these slurs thrown out willy nilly. And the recieving end is just going to feel mind fucked and incapable of an acceptably brief response that will convince anyone of this misconception with appearing "obsessed." The only way to deal with it is to feel your complexity and beauty and understand that they just can't or won't or don't need to understand.

Now, "obssessed' and "stalker" seem in a different league. But, I see those accusations thrown at almost anyone who displays pretty normal sentiments or behaviours.

If other things don't eat up all my time, I'll get into "lifestyle.' later. It doesn't seem to belong on the list but it does...

There really are mental wards and hospitals for the criminally insane. there really is a death row. There can't be a doubt that some live amidst us and do not experience guilt or goodness. That sleep at night when they ravage other's lifes.
But, they, thankfully, are a select few. Not the majority and these words are just diminishing and need to be put out of commission in cases where there is really no compelling evidence.


Oh my. I do have gramaphobia(or whatever name I was called this week)


I have one minute left and so I'll try to wrap this strange stream of consciousness up with... sticks and stones very well might break your bones but... names need to be analyzed before you even think about letting them harm you. Dyke and faggot and many others have been "taken back." and disarmed. New more onerous, less obvious ones have taken their place.


Much more later, taters. When i hit 1000 hits we are going to party like it's 2008. aight??

I annoy my own self so ... hush.

pigs, tigs, delmont klien and I.

Lots of crazies out there, that's for sure. I'm starting to think that over 80 percent of people are damaged beyond repair. And, the vast majority of the remaining minority that are not crazy crazy, per se, are boring. There might be a 1 percent or 2 percent group of appealing people and they are needles in haystacks and diamonds in the rough -- very hard to find if you want to get to the gist of all that.

Anyway, I've had many noteworthy epiphanies and a few run of the mill insights I'd like to share with you when my blog hits the magic 400. That's my next milestone and I can hardly wait.

Till then I must keep my promise to Delmont Klein. For newbie viewers, Delmont is a dear and deceased friend of mine. He entrusted me with his word documents just before he collapsed and died from assorted causes. It might seem like a "no brainer." that a poet and social satirist could only expect obscurity and death in our day and age. But, But, But, what seems isn't always what should be and I can only do my part. As of his passing, there are about 800 pages of material. Delmont was in a state of perpetual perplexedness and at the times when this overflowed and his synapses couldn't bear it, he wrote silly things: This was written about his girlfriend who was forced to take on day jobs to support his work.


The pigs possibility

The pig woke up one day
with a yellowed B.A
And a job
where she had to fold clothes everyday.
Her hooves were aching and
Her heart was breaking
Our pig felt that she should be more
Than a folder in a store
forsaking the mundane
again
our pig grew philosophical
And said “ what is it all for and why all the pain?”
the pig knew that pondering
wouldn’t pay the rent on her pen
So she folded in and on
and tried meditating again.

the customer asking for a baby tee
Broke her concentration
and made her wonder:
To be or not to be?
She still wanted to be
So she put in her resignation
And proceeded to flee.

She wanted to find what was beautiful and divine
She was a pig prone to fancy
What they call: A refined porcine

the pen had a landlord
And bills always came due
The pig decided she had to call
her big wig buddy,Lou.

Lou had used his degree properly
And now owned his own temp agency

The pigs typing was rusty and her word proccessing skills nil
The pig was stressed and wanted some pill
But she was not going to be addicted
Or evicted
Damn, she thought I don’t deserve to fold clothes or type
I deserve to be on a throne
But the throne wasn’t forthcoming
So instead she picked up the phone

Hey, Lou whats up?
She said
I need a job real bad
I’ll be at the pond all day
see, Lou was a frog and
Conducted business from a lily pad

Our pig put on her pantyhose and her dreaded dress shoes
she had maybe no too much to gain
but also not much to lose.

Lou greeted her with a tale of his successes and other assorted Hype.
He never once uttered Ribbit Ribbit
That, you see, is just a stereotype.

He talked of the growing need in the workplace for the frog and the hog
And told her he always needed fine swine.
our pig, was artistic
so she delighted in Lous facility with a rhyme.

the fancy frog told our hog that the job would begin the next day

Ah ha, she snorted, I didn’t even need a resume.

She set her alarm and set out her pantyhose
And times like this she wished she had toes.
Now that’s tangential and possibly not neccesarry to our tale
But only those with hooves can know the damage to stocking has
Caused many a pig to wail.

The alarm went off and the pig
Pushed the snooze button
She at times like this wished she was mutton
Mutton slept late and
Never felt blue
They actually bragged about the fact
That they were only good for stew

But she born a sophisticated swine
Forced to join the rat race
Ah, such dark thoughts
were just cutting off her snout to spite her face
She put on the hose and proceeded to the door
More dues to be paid till her due would come
How the fact that she didn’t know how many was making her glum
Her college roommate, Verna, had been a stripping swine
But, our hog couldn’t stop the salad days by undressing
She was raised right to valure her mind like Doris Lessing
Whether a curse or a blessing
She found her self on her way to lou
To pick up a timecard
She comforted herself by saying this is exercise and will diminish my lard.
With all the ills in question, out of the question was getting overweight
She paused to ponder and realized that she was five minutes away from being late
She was walking too swiftly and was soon and of breath
She pressed on and thought of dreams and death
She passed the mutton’s slum
And thought of stew and shame
and
if her time never came
Our valiant pig showed up on time
And that will conclude this piggish rhyme.