Damn, I don't know who put the fire under Blogger's ass....
But they've made so many changes and upgrades that they are getting the fuck outta hand. I mean, all for the better. I mean, ASS KICKING changes. I have a preview button now that makes typesetting a snap. A photo feature that makes photo manipulation a breeze and not a chore, a larger text screen with dozens of options, new, broader Stats and Design Gadgets so that I can make fancy changes to the web page. Maybe this will greatly reduce my time between actually writing a post and posting it.That would be good for me because I'm beginning to back up here like an impacted bowel.
Yeah, you know everything I write is largely bullshit, so I guess when I back up on posts, I am actually backing up on bowel movements of the bull-headed mind. I don't know. I just don't. I'm freefallin' here. Not trying to do much of anything other than fight against the forces that hinder me. And watch a little television when I can stand it. Can you imagine that now? Before I stopped taking Abilify, television was only a concept that I barely understood. I used to wonder why anyone would sit down and watch someone parrot memorized lines to elicit emotional responses from their viewers. The same goes for fucking documentaries. Even the NEWS smart ass. I saw television as a portal to watch people more successful than you do what they enjoy while you toil at what you don't. Television pissed me off constantly.
Then I stopped taking Abilify and my world imploded almost overnight. I fell into the world of Television, of vicarious living, and was sucked into a whirlpool of images and situations all to divorce me from the reality of my life and the lives of others. I was hypnotized by the Boob Toob and hollowed out, left soulless. Then, I went back on Abilify and Television just takes too fucking long to watch. Yeah, I am hyperactive now. I can't sit my ass still. I washed my floor on my hands and knees. Why? Because I wanted to get every little particle, every little fleck off the floor. I have a faux wood tiled floor, so I tackled it tile by tile, dusting the tile, scraping the tile, washing the tile, allowing the tile to dry, and then dusting the tile again. Talk about Obsessive Compulsive.
When I was in the Box of Nuts, for those of you who have just tuned in, it was the homeless shelter that I lived in before moving to The Spot. There was a close friend of mine, a tall Laker Basketball looking dude whose name escapes me. Everyone hated him because he was hyperactive. He would prattle all day long, and was frighteningly intelligent, but he was still disliked. It's fascinating that I liked him more than everyone there save Murder Mike. He was a very deep person, will a great deal of pain in his life, and a memory like a steel trap. He could remember some of the most amazing things. He was like a fucking computer and read all night long, voraciously going through paperbacks in two days, but he could not do two things...stand still and sleep.
I'll be damned if I'm not like him now. I even take books with me to the bathroom when I shit because I have to multitask. Shitting is a waste of time. I checked my prescription bottles lined up on my window sill just to get a handle as to where I am with my meds, and lo and behold I noticed that I'm out of Wellbutrin. I scratch my head...FUCK! Another time warp! I'll explain. Some time last week I ran out of Wellbutrin, Lipitor and Thiamine. I take the bottles and walk over to Duane Reade, the haunted house of pharmacies, and drop off my bottles. The next day I return and get the scoop. There's always a 'scoop' with them instead of just giving you your fucking pills there's always some cockamamie explanation for the reason why you Didn't get what you asked for.
Today, my new explanation is that I can only get the Lipitor. The Thiamine has to be reordered from Dr. A, and the Wellbutrin has expired, even though the bottle said that I had three refills left. Go figure. So, I go back home and see Dr. G on the first floor and explain to her that I need another prescription for the Wellbutrin. She patiently scribbles out another and I go to Duane and hand it over. The next day I go back for one, the Thiamine and that's it. My mind dropped from med procurement right after that. I really believed that I picked up my Wellbutrin and was taking it.
Here's the problem: I've been popping Abilify without Wellbutrin for a week now. Which could explain my manic state. Wellbutrin, which is supposed to be a pick me up, is a bit of a drag for me, so Abilfy is an added pick me up. But without the Wellbutrin there is no drag, and Abilify is heavy-lifting something light. Ergo, hyperactivity. So I'm popping those motherfucking Wellbutrin tonight to see if it'll shave off some of the edge from my manic state. Not that I want it shaved. I'm am in rare form now. I can't tell you how productive I have been this last week. If I stay this way, and if I can get around the burnout, I'm going to ask Dr. G to boost the Abilify and drop the Wellbutrin completely.
I just don't want to burn out. That would be bad. That's what I think is happening with these catnaps. They hit like hammers to the head. I'm awake one moment, out cold the next. What kind of shit is that? But between, I can't stay still. Hyperactivity is both fun and rewarding. I like a clean home. Hyperactivity makes it spotless. I like things in order. Hyperactivity alphabetizes and puts shit in size order. I like things arranged properly. Hyperactivity puts everything in a grid at right angles. I like my bed made. Hyperactivity smooths out all of the wrinkles. Get it yet? Shit, this morning I learned all of the function keys on my keyboard, and then, since I had my light on for the first time in months I could see all the sputz between the keys. So I spent about two hours this morning with cotton balls and Q-tips cleaning every single key on the keyboard. All 101 keys!
On top of this, I am so hyperactive I can barely type anymore. My keystrokes, which was always in the 50-60 strokes a minute can no longer keep up with the letters forming in my mind. I jump words now. I see the words and my fingers type them out. I no longer spell many of them in my head. But my fingers still can't keep up and I'm constantly correcting my typing. I just love hyperactivity. Although, now last night I fell to sleep pretty heavily for two hours. Now this is directly after taking the Wellbutrin. Then I woke up, but was tired. Now check this out. So I lay down again and stared at the radiator next to my bed for what seemed an eternity, only to slip into a data stream. Conscious thoughts running through my head like a separate voice. My voice, but not controlled by me. Weird, right? Then my mind saw flashes of scantily dressed Busy Phillips.
I began undressing her from a sleek teddy from the shoulders first, then her arms. I started to nuzzle her neck, breathe in her skin, bite her earlobes. Shit! I said to myself. She's like fucking FOOD! I grabbed her then, the spaghetti straps of her teddy falling down revealing the upper hemispheres of her breasts. I was HUNGRY for this woman, and then suddenly an eternity of the fucking radiator. I tried to get her back, but the more I tried the more concrete this fucking radiator became until finally I realized what I was looking at. The
fucking radiator.
Wellbutrin. What a trip.
But I do feel calmer today? I feel wired but not manic. I wonder what today will bring. I'm going to spend it writing my screenplay. Last night I finished the Seventh Episode, out of Twenty four but that's alright. I'm ready baby. I want to get most of this shit done by next year so that in 2011 I can make a treatment and start pitching this baby. Especially if I am on higher doses of Abilify and lower of Wellbutrin. That would be good.
I'll probably write a couple of posts today also. Introspective, incisively bloodletting, painful. Maybe I'll tell you about the more horrible side of growing up in the ghetto, or living high on the hog, enjoying the good life, running a money making tech firm, and losing it all in a crap shoot called 9/11. Who knows? It just depends on how I feel.
Talk to you later.
Hobobob
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Damn, I don't know who put the fire under Blogger's ass....
Then I stopped taking Abilify and my world imploded almost overnight. I fell into the world of Television, of vicarious living, and was sucked into a whirlpool of images and situations all to divorce me from the reality of my life and the lives of others. I was hypnotized by the Boob Toob and hollowed out, left soulless. Then, I went back on Abilify and Television just takes too fucking long to watch. Yeah, I am hyperactive now. I can't sit my ass still. I washed my floor on my hands and knees. Why? Because I wanted to get every little particle, every little fleck off the floor. I have a faux wood tiled floor, so I tackled it tile by tile, dusting the tile, scraping the tile, washing the tile, allowing the tile to dry, and then dusting the tile again. Talk about Obsessive Compulsive.
Here's the problem: I've been popping Abilify without Wellbutrin for a week now. Which could explain my manic state. Wellbutrin, which is supposed to be a pick me up, is a bit of a drag for me, so Abilfy is an added pick me up. But without the Wellbutrin there is no drag, and Abilify is heavy-lifting something light. Ergo, hyperactivity. So I'm popping those motherfucking Wellbutrin tonight to see if it'll shave off some of the edge from my manic state. Not that I want it shaved. I'm am in rare form now. I can't tell you how productive I have been this last week. If I stay this way, and if I can get around the burnout, I'm going to ask Dr. G to boost the Abilify and drop the Wellbutrin completely.
On top of this, I am so hyperactive I can barely type anymore. My keystrokes, which was always in the 50-60 strokes a minute can no longer keep up with the letters forming in my mind. I jump words now. I see the words and my fingers type them out. I no longer spell many of them in my head. But my fingers still can't keep up and I'm constantly correcting my typing. I just love hyperactivity. Although, now last night I fell to sleep pretty heavily for two hours. Now this is directly after taking the Wellbutrin. Then I woke up, but was tired. Now check this out. So I lay down again and stared at the radiator next to my bed for what seemed an eternity, only to slip into a data stream. Conscious thoughts running through my head like a separate voice. My voice, but not controlled by me. Weird, right? Then my mind saw flashes of scantily dressed Busy Phillips.
I'll probably write a couple of posts today also. Introspective, incisively bloodletting, painful. Maybe I'll tell you about the more horrible side of growing up in the ghetto, or living high on the hog, enjoying the good life, running a money making tech firm, and losing it all in a crap shoot called 9/11. Who knows? It just depends on how I feel.
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