Monthly Archives: February 2011
Several hissing buzzards have intoned into my cell phone that I owe them money. Some of them have funny accents and will keep talking until you stop them. These expenses I’ve created are perfectly normal, and absolutely rational. I don’t feel manic, but I do feel very defensive and paranoid. That’s otherwise known as There Is Something Else Wrong With Me, and I have to get it worked on. Nothing major, just trying to see if I’m a guy that took a life, or would take my own. Answers to both: Nope.
Suicide, for all of its radical chic and seemingly eternal length, is for bozos. Remember the wristcutters in school? They answer the phones at customer service getting underpaid to talk to you now because you don’t understand your own cell phone bill. Shit, I wanna kill something when that thing shows up, but it ain’t gonna be me or the guy on the other line.
I propose a radical solution: set an age limit to get a cell phone. Make it 25. Because when those call centers empty out every shift, you are all trying to drown their sorrow in alcohol. Kids should never have one, and young adults, well, you’ve seen what it does to them. There is NO ONE that needs to be this connected to information. It’s weird and it needs to stop.
Get off the phone. It’s a nice day. No suicide, just some lunch.
I have a whole day to clean a house, and so I will not be here for a few hours. I leave you with some inspirational music. This is a fucking seminary. Behave and listen.
Bought the domain name, and here we go in the rocket, you scuzzbuckets!!!!!!!
I got reported for being offensive today! You have no idea how good it makes me feel that you listened and were disgusted. One thing, my little eagle eyed-birdies:
Have you asked yourself how disgusting you are?
Thanks to WordPress for having my back the whole way.
Uh, here’s something about getting proton therapy for cancer. Quick question: didn’t you always want to just “see” the little fella rather than his atomic cartoon as a kid???
This should be a funny joke. Regrettably, you have one default option when you get put in stir with a bunch of other patients.
1. You find out you might be God.
This smacks of bad idea-dom. Because everyone else on the ward is already firmly convinced that they run the ward and are God as well. Or the devil, a druid, a Jehovah’s Witness, a distant relative, perhaps a djinn or wendigo might show up and tell you these terrible things.
If recovery for bipolar disorder means this plus the happy drugs, then the bipolar community might want to rethink its steps to recovery. I don’t have a community yet, and do not think I want one since I have a psycho ward on my hands called a nuclear family.
That ought to keep me busy for a little while. But damn, it’s really not a good idea to put bipolars in the general population, because they will find other bipolars, playing some other religious characters or some stupid shit like that.
The thing all bipolars must understand is that those are only bit part players. Oh, they’re there to color in the drawings, and make pretend people for you to bump into. For the sake of gentleness, we’ll say that we all wound up at that stupid hospital for a reason, one or another. DO NOT extrapolate anything out of this phrase. Stay away from people who say “everything happens for a reason” whenever they have tried to cheer you up. That person is up to no good and you should not, uh, trust anything they say because “their” reasoning is even worse off than yours is. Nothing happens for some invisible reason that concerns YOU as a little monkey.
Sounds like I hate religion-quite the opposite. If you had to give me a name, I’m still a skeptic, or some sort of Gnostic, still above all an atheist so I can remain critical and not biased. But anyway, getting religion was a perquisite for the honor of being stuck in the basement floor with a bunch of civil war reenactors and people in diapers. I handled it well.
So; here’s how to treat a bipolar, so I can be straight here: You treat a person like shit because they think they are God, and then you tell him that he is God or he is in him/her somewhere.
It’s your conundrum, idiots, not mine.
Don’t you love that clarion call, those of you who have spent time in a ward? I just did. It was a long stretch for me (a few weeks), but the Veteran’s Administration has saved my life, along with my wife. Whew. That was a close one; I will bore you with the details some other time.
Basically this God-Damned -Idiot wanted to get up in the morning a few weeks ago and take my younger son on a trip to buy a new car. Somewhere along the line I had the inkling that I wanted to get a new Social Security card for my kid so had something important in his wallet, but not before I vowed never to shop at Best Buy again because they don’t stand behind what they sell.
But I wanted a car, too. A nice one, built for safety and performance.
I already have one of these.
Now if you are bipolar and you just read that, you went “uh-oh”. If you are not bipolar, you might have a shitty car and I probably can’t stand the way you drive.
I was unsuccessful in my attempt to get the car . Thought you might want to know, I’m home, and safe. Thanks to everyone who brought me back from that one.