Fond Of It

On Thursday, November 13, I found myself taking everything I own out into the rain, where it was then taken to another apartment. I'm meant to fill in the space in the same manner as I did before, or at least in a way that won't offend anyone. So far I'm doing well. Linda and I did most of the work, as my father is weak and somewhat ill, and age 76.

I underestimated the emotional impact that this move would have on me. More than a couple of times, I totally fucking freaked out. Like tear your shirt off "Bruce Banister" style freaked out.

But enough of that. Those episodes where I lose control and become very self destructive are rare, but they leave a feeling of distrust and sadness behind. And for me, guilt. I've started taking Effexor again, and it seems to be quite efficacious. A proper lithium level has been restored, and that has helped with depression, as well. If need be, I'll tap into my reserves of Risperdal, a potent but highly undesirable anti-psychotic. With me, it causes flu-like feelings and headache with chills. I'd rather that than telling my girlfriend that I want her to kill me.

Going back into a psych ward was something for me to consider. But I couldn't think of how I would benefit. I've been so many times, after all. So I took some lorazepam, slept, and found myself again over time. Both my girlfriend Linda and my father said, "It's so good to have you back." the day after my mania stopped. I wept like a babe when I found heard them say both exactly the same thing, a couple of hours apart. Linda got the tears as she said it second.

A kind gentleman left some information in a comment for me to consider about lithium. I'm going to look at it. I'm confident that lithium has worked well for me these past 8 years. But with lithium toxicity being such a concern, I can see how there would be many bad stories about lithium poisoning.

Tonight I'm battling a rather nasty cold. So much to talk about, but I feel strongly compelled to shed my clothes and seek the warmth of my other self under the covers on the bed behind me. Sleeping with the woman you love is an accidental gift of wondrous exctasy in a random universe. I'm fond of it.

Auto Extortion

The government is being extorted by GM and Ford to the tune of 25 billion of your Earth dollars. They say that they are too big to fail, and if they are allowed to, two and a half million people will be out of work, the sun will go black, and you'll have to eat turd sandwiches to survive.

I have a modest proposal. Let us instead purchase GM and Ford, as taxpayers, and then set up each company (or one combined company) as a not-for-profit corporation.

The capitalists are waving the white flag, here. A low interest loan will only delay the inevitable. But if you go my Socialist way, you don't have to even make a profit. Workers' wages could continue to be negotiated via unions. The board of this new corporation could be compensated through a salary and benefits package approved by Congress. A trust for profits could be established, and used to fund expansion and investment.

Just an idea, folks. A big, fat RED one.

Obama as "Mutt"

In his first press conference, President-Elect Barack Obama made a joke, one of two that have people with nothing else to do talking. I'm one of those people, apparently. There is something interesting here worth looking at, perhaps as a way of reminding you that most people need to be slapped. After election day, you may have noticed a general optimism about the future of mankind. Party-poopers are already at work. Give them a parade and they will bring the rain.

The wet blankets I have in mind are the biracial cry babies who take offense at Obama referring to himself as a "mutt." Specifically, found in Kimchi Mamas, a blog written by a Korean-American woman. By all means, check it out. She seems like a nice woman, but she's being too damn sensitive. If Obama is comfortable calling himself a fucking "mutt," then he can do so. If some biracial people find the term upsetting, you're just going to have to get over it.

Some people have this thing called a "sense of humor" and often try to inject conversation and speeches with good natured self-deprecation, thus providing levity, even approachability.

This chick doesn't have one. Kimchi Mama! Otherwise a good blog.

A Major Opus

This morning I was catching up on some old emails, and this and that, and discovered the final Opus comic, where he apparently doesn't quite die but instead goes to sleep dreaming of a better, kinder world. That's a fine ending as far as I'm concerned, but I'm sorry to see it go. Bloom County went off into the great beyond several years ago, and I remember it well.

For those who don't know, Bloom County by Berkley Breathed was a comic strip that ran in the '80's and probably into the '90's (memory fails). The main character, or one of them, was Opus the Penguin. Such was the popularity of Bloom County that Opus was brought back for "Opus," a couple of years ago. It ran only in the Sunday paper and was frequently, like Bloom County, the funniest and best illustrated comic in the comics. It was political, but lacked the poisonous, unfunny air of Mallard Fillmore or Prickly City. Even if you disagreed with the little penguin, you had to admire his fundamental humanity. Or penguinanity.

Among his possessions at his "death" was a copy of To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee. It's compelling, and deeply moving to me, that Breathed chose that book. An innocent's desire for innocence and kindess in this world. I will miss you, Opus, as well as Steve Dallas, Bill the Cat and Bloom County.

The Day After

I'll happily enjoy a bong hit with you Man in Black. At this point, a lobotomy would help, as well. Despite this magnificent success and a most happy day (except for Question 8 in California) for Obamamites like myself and Linda, I'm in a terrible, suicidal depression. A perfect example of how it's all in the mind, this mental illness stuff.

Most of the morning found me on the virge of tears, as did the afternoon. For much of the day, I've been drugged with lorazepam, Effexor and propranolol. It's difficult to explain, but I'm ensconsced in guilt, self-loathing and physical weakness. I'll not give into suicidal ideation, but I find it withering. A constant barrage of thoughts and feelings that almost seemed designed to reduce me to quivering jelly.

Irritability travels with it, as it would with anyone in emotional survival mode.

I'd like to say Congratulations to everyone. It is truly a magnificent victory.