What I have lost … and what I have gained.
On Pet Gain
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So long Twitter, and thanks for all the fish
The single most disappointing aspect of my experience using Twitter was wanting to discuss ideas with folks and realizing nothing short of a kick-ass dog pic or a shot of their unboxed book would yield acknowledgement.
On F$&king Up Careers
Can anyone guess the best way to derail a career in journalism?
Wait until after your pick up your English degree (minoring in Mass Communications ‘cause you were at the best damn journalism school one could hope for after all and just not showing up to class Freshman year at Georgia Tech, and initializing your collegiate transcript with a whopping 0.18 GPA, shouldn’t keep you out of Grady entirely)
Where was I … oh yeah … wait until after you graduate (the first time) to be diagnosed with dysthymia and ADHD.
When you realize “I suppose I could hold the sale of the house hostage pending her agreement to both see her own psychiatrist and acquire her own couch counselor” are just thoughts you have now, in passing, ∑ background noise
Schrodinger’s cat: I want to bask in the knowledge the fucker may still be fine and put off having to check on him indefinitely. You want to freak the fuck out about how the cat is obviously already fucking dead and no we can’t check on him right this second but any goddamn moment now we’ll be obligated to unbox the lifeless husk of our very dear friend so you better fucking brace yourself.
Well, I guess if you never have inventory run out, you’re never forced to go cold turkey and realize on day three that you were definitely on more Mydayis than your body wants you on.
When your tunnel light turned out to be the after image been burnt into your retina, and it dawns on you that you won’t be able to trust your eyes while they’re adjusting to this sudden darkness.
I was nesting in the home I loved, comforted by the certainty that construction on the home out my window would eventually cease.
Now I simply live in temporary housing that is made unlivable between the hours of 8am and 5pm.
When you realize nobody with an honest interest in understanding you shall ever be around you in your life again long enough to be capable of doing so.
I wonder what the odds were last March (there are only so many times you can hear this without repeating it), when I said out loud for the very first time in memory, “I’ll just kill myself,” (shocking even myself into pondering whether I really were suicidal (I wasn’t and turns out I never have been)) that the very next thing said to me would be, “Good, nobody wants you here.”
If doctors were in the least bit equipped for thinking laterally, they’d ask old folks about the histories of their progeny. Were this the case, my father’s doctor would learn that he’d endowed me with his ADHD, while my mother’s would find out she’d dressed me in her dysthymia. Leaving dysthymia untreated must blow.
Still fathoming five years actively allowing my insides to spill out into darkness like tentacles feeling their way through foreign soil to tactilely trace the unknown, with all the curiosity of a sheltered child being welcomed into Disney World, without anything reaching out to touch me back.
Not sure which nose it was… but grade school ☾𐂂 would walk around on one wearing a shirt just like this.
Now I kinda want to pen an autobiography that not a one of you could possibly understand and call it My Ungrokkable Self
Perhaps I ought condition myself to give everyone the performance they’re looking for, like yesterday… and this morning. My ungrokkable self is tired of caring and a performance is the quickest way to pat them on the back and send them out smiling.
When you’re hanging out at Cali K9 waiting to be noticed, having arrived late (something you’ve done many times over the last 1 1/2 years you’ve been taking Kota there), when, finally, someone comes over to ask just the right questions. “You meant to be here? This your first class?”
“Nope, last.”
When you force her to read nonsense like this in a text because how the fuck else were you going to describe it: “Just sucks I have to rock my bog-sunken tires free from this tractionless hellscape in order to get moving again.”
When you remember keeping your parents address longer so you could continue voting against Newt Gingrich who was coming for your brother’s happiness.
Fresh armchair (couch, in honesty) theory: the aforementioned lateral thinking training, which leverages everything we detest about Lazy ADHD, installs the very neural pathways utilized by everything we celebrate about Creative ADHD. You can’t make darkness without light.
I wish I had done better at being a bridge between popularity and pocket protectors when I was in high school.
Wanna max out that Lateral Thinking attribute for your character’s latest build? Add some undiagnosed ADHD (27 years’ll do) and then try accruing fourty-fucking-something years pivoting out of any action your character ain’t in the mood for.
When you remember you failed whatever that stupid writing comprehension crap they make you do before officially signing off on your two-year core being satisfied in some American Universities (I remembered because I was recalling the last time you have to play 5¶ essay before becoming a real boy).
Reason #422 that I will not be your prototypical client:
Let’s say you’re my gym. You’ve been working with me for quite a while. You haven’t seen me for months (when the bottom drops out you become low priority). I finally decide to come back in today… 25 lbs lighter w/o 6.8% of my fat.
When you realize it’s been twenty years or so since you’ve had a friend’s phone number in your phone (or a friend for that matter).
When, now you’ve passed nearly as many years friendless as you have all friended up, you realize just what an unstoppable f$&king force you might prove to be should some spontaneous game of Balderdash ever overtake a room.
Y’all have no idea how f$&king draining being an enigma can be. So f$&king deflating to realize your neural network has plied its way into an algorithm configured in such a manner as to render your reality without a single soul available within to understand you or your perception.
Honestly, the philosophy major I was gonna be had I started at Oglethorpe instead of Tech would have been the most accurate.
If you’ve identified that annoying, repetitive ticking currently keeping you from settling into something, and the source happens to be the chaotic rush of CO₂ bubbles crying freedom before bursting against the aluminum can containing all those H₂O molecules who should be so lucky… U might be #ADHD
