flagrant disregard

year, not years
AND so my eyes began to cross a lot over the last week-- the left in particular it may relate to habits of routinely extracting one's eye when hitting a squelch.

a script was delivered. it read, "being 'lazy ass new years' it's best not to insult the gym lice."

okay, wrong twice in the face of that which never counts.

1) consider how in many cases, it is the lack of insulting the gym lice which afford them to reach their current state. note that the script refuses to allow me to improvise here with the word deslobberization.

2) an opposite consideration is how many insurance providers offer a standard gym membership for their enrollees-- and benefits change on the first day of the year. perhaps, reserve 'january gym lice' as a term for those who are so flat they believe people attend gyms for 'apt to break' 'after holiday promises' to create a new body.


after the script was set aside, MINI Sippy Car drove Invalid Friend Chuck and i to the Red Store where each happy new years told me to question the absence of disability. i did.

"oh, not out loud," said Invalid Friend.

constant: when a workerbee thinks, it's always in the wrong direction.

how can this Invalid Friend (..who knew over three weeks ago that he was going to be fired today, and has not lined up new employment..) dare to verbally offer Anything?

constant: when dealing with an Invalid or workerbee, one must even question Facts.

Invalid Friend doesn't understand Much but will impart Anything. since one must assume that most sentences directed toward him are experimental, a common exchange could easily defend how important it is to twist words when playing chess.

"oh, but wasn't i referring to my own absence of disability," i asked.

rule: always radiate sincerity.
rule: always secretly bite your smile.
rule: bend the snark card to point at yourself and you will always win.



AND who knows how i ended up at the Fatass Obstacle Course.
AND why do gift card transactions require cashiers to perform brain gymkata?
i mean, this was plastic at the Red Store, not ecb chaos at CVS!
AND, actually, shopping worked brilliantly to remind me of why i...
i...
until
well, until i saw a six year old wearing a Che Guevara t-shirt.

LIFEBOX exhibits a state of shaken, yet contained, carbonated beverage. i, on the other hand, am still purposely forcing disintegration while enduring a cross-modal synesthetic abstraction. i keep seeing ketchup in the aforementioned carbonated beverage and its redness says, "go!"

consider: exchange the geographical project for a cortical map.

oh miserable life, do find a way to persist.

well, crap.
over the next ten days i take The Nutcase to ecuador, hawaii, morocco,
AND the local target store.


ecuador= will again be acting as an international chaperone, am responsible for transporting profoundly gifted students from the san francisco bay area to a biodiversity expedition in the galapagos islands. this trip to ecuador actually consists of two 'immediate turnaround' round trip journeys-- one to south america to deliver the students and then another to collect them at time of departure. this is the same group who recently attended a biodiversity camp in costa rica. our trips are fun, but since the kids are behaved and well traveled, the production is terribly predictable. we will again fly on continental airlines and route through houston intercontinental. it's all so safe, they don't get thrilled, either.

hawaii= my lecture series has suddenly taken on an amphetaminic level of employment. i accepted a speaking engagement and all of the perks which come with traveling to hawaii for a large conference. how on earth to get through it this time? no way do i believe i can do this. the worst part is simultaneously holding both ends of the spectrum-- chronic doubt that "i can do this" and that "i have previously succeeded" while actively disregarding the fact that "'i can' and 'no doubt i will'" succeed.

morocco= flying to north africa to confirm an ensemble of imports. i also need to oversee that ceramics and antique textiles are placed in the hands of a courier who will deliver them to my gallery without theft or international incident.

AND target= i have no idea why invalid friend wants to shop at the red store.

waiting for you blogstalker…

waiting for the e-mail which will state that my way of illustrating an ultimate level of awareness went over your head and you are instead surprised to hear I could have an ant in my home…

the original question: how to live without anxiety?
answer: who cares? it's not something i enjoy or want to explore.

these broken pieces and various insecurities which have resulted from a lack of anxiety feel like Grand Failures to me. three parking tickets have now turned into something like six violations in total, and there was one morning i even overslept.

OVER! DONE!

today the nervousness began to creep back into DAILY LIFE and i am almost giddy with gratitude. consider what would happen if i reinstated the rule of the what if? why is it that the what if is useless? what if never fearing, but instead, putting the sentiment of what if back to work?

no more normal/flexible/BLAH for me, thanks. invalid friend chuck is about to lose his job and i need to be cold/rigid/ON in order to Do Things Right. it's a fair trade. why fear dealing with EVERYthing Possibly Going To Hell (or worse, taking too long) when EVERYthing could be Kept In Place?

am i really fine with deciding to harbor the shaking speed freak in the tap of my clavicle? AND fine to be cold/rigid/ON ON ON to the point of spotting an unfamiliar speck and declaring the uninvited ant from 20 feet away? AND fine with thinking that wind gusts and dust may conspire to pursue the shine on MINI Sippy Car? yes, all fine with the tap and The Nutcase if they produce Results.

consider: obscene worries illustrate a capacity for DAILY LIFE.

a lack of Real Fear can only promote The Nutcase. if Kidlet's college fund was not In Order, could i locate a way to worry about *the wind* and its relevance to an automobile's paint job? i should value how Safe i must be if obsession cannot properly attach to Real Life.

triggers are not yet acting as an influence, but their allowance begins to tie up tendrils of Horrible November.

i feel a little sick inside / i finally feel a lot better / i feel familiar.

is it over yet? i neither have interest in writing about, nor taking responsibility for the last 36 hours, but will state that the internal dialogue has changed for the better.

consider: fear this health, must counter it immediately.

when once there were hidden black marks of hatred, today i find myself flaunting a language of protection. seriously, the ink used to be crude but the writing on the back of my hand reads i am safe now.

consider: fear this integration, implement the characters.
consider: how much unthreading can be done if i decide to be we?

REX says: "change the marks to 'you' are safe now not 'i' am safe now."
REX says: "you are safe because of me, not you."

i should rightly be pissed off about the aforementioned package to the point of burning down my mother's home, but the emotion will not develop. opinion will suddenly (and intentionally) be strained through the voice of cartoon characters. so what if my family screws up? how can i be mad at that which i should have had the capacity to counter?

always known, but finally revealed and pinpointed:
dissociation = unexpressed emotion of anger

consider: fear this insight.
REX says: "insight is an overvalued commodity."

consider: the differences between intellectual and behavior changing insight.

REX says: "fear not. no one gave you permission to your change behavior."

The plan was to lie and tell my mother I was an alcoholic in an effective effort to receive several bottles of wine. My forgetfulness resulted in a box full of corn allergy and a milky word which shouldn't exist.

An imported semi-cooked cheese with a full-bodied nutty interpretation?
No, the side of its p-p-plastic tub said...

We're going on a repetitive decade here, and so, when the box of perishables is delivered by mail carrier this afternoon, do i succumb to a week of seizures and obligation due to accepting this motherly love-- or finally let confidence do what it is i need to do?

Even if the contents can only be abused, there is an outrageous amount of guilt in throwing a box of food away. Whether wasted by illness, or trashed and sent down a garbage shoot-- it ends up in the same form. Why can't we just skip the process and invalidate it without a second effort? Same question, different year. Due to the Los Angeles Department of Public Health regulations, donations such as this are required to come from a licensed, professional caterer. I will not put the box in the trash.

This guilt is elevated by the fact the box of food is unwanted. I think my act of needing to protect myself instead comes across as a lack of gratitude. Why do I have to be of good character and try to take the responsibility for this annual delivery? In doing so, motherfigure and the rest can release their roles for a time- here is their chance to let some other situation wear the Stupefaction of December Sash.

It is not a box of food for the malnourished.
It is love.
It is we want to know that you are okay.

BUT, motherfigure only sends notorious ingredients of intolerance.

AND, in sending this box, we don't acknowledge your illness.
AND, just let the family pretend right now that your anorexia isn't severe.
OR, luckily, you'll absorb some calories when you throw it up.

A problem is also in the acceptance of care, that is, bending my independence in half for a moment. After all of that needing while living at the hand of someone else in a screwed up candlelit lifestyle, my concrete independence which thrives now isn't profound- it's expected. It is extremely difficult for me to ask another person for something. I believe I should be on top of everything at all times -- so far as to take up the slack for others when they fail -- and never show dents in the armor which I didn't purposely place there myself. I keep thinking it is somehow my fault that this box of love is continuing to be packed up and sent.

This package must excite a lot of anger beneath the surface which is directed toward the obligation-- anger which I don't know how to express though any other means than barking at the drain. If the emotion adapts and is expressed though traditional means, it feels as though I might kill someone.

After trying to unsuccessfully secure the 'love' aspect and leave this situation undeveloped, a statement of being ignored moves in and thrives. No matter how much I try to ignore it, this impending box and all of the complications is a situation. A sentiment of stumpiness? A refusal to accept truth even when one knows it is fact when in a position to only lack understanding? The Collective Who Can clearly need to bond in an attempt to find a way to teach the uneducated to bow to knowledge and then move the F out of the way.

The aggravating portion of the eating disorder operates at light speed and feeds around the poison. I need quicker friends. My bmi is under half of theirs but the suggestion is to give it away? That doesn't work because in operating on both spectrums, my weight suggests I am entitled to all food, all of the time (more than anyone!) but I am not allowed mere morsels or adequate sustenance (more than anyone!) and these ideas are held in the same thought.

The delivery cannot unfold in a way which does not interfere today. The annual perishable box needs to be countered in advance-- and it always is -- but the opposition proves to be a constant failure.

Most of what I learned over the last few months in the courses I took was how to deal with performing perfectly, but yet having my work tarnished by the actions of someone or something else. Perhaps this box filled with ignorance, nourishment, 30,000 calories, and the scent of an emergency room is the season's real final exam.

After an honest contemplation, Miss Grinch has refused to purchase a BMW X5 4.8L AWD for Fertile Sister and, as if in retaliation, assumes her Address Book Entry will be yanked or torn. Miss Grinch began to sarcastically challenge the character of Anyone who thought saying no will result in Miss Grinch's Best Christmas Ever but abruptly stopped. Either People Who Know recognize this costuming, or People Who Do Not hold no influence.

Miss Grinch winced, swallowed Reheated Three Day Old Coffee, and then set off in MINI Sippy Car to balance the Universe.

The drive was steep.

Avoiding Cracks, Overspent People, and all eye contact with $2800 Luxury Handbags, Miss Grinch nervously purchased Heavy Blankets for HHCLA. MINI Sippy Car was maneuvered back to Safe Place without Disastrous Incident.

Note: Lack of Disastrous Incident is usually supplemented with Miserable Situation Stemming From Stranger's Negligence Which Always Requires Action.

Bastard Neighbor had blocked Miss Grinch's Driveway Entrance with 2007 Mercedes S-Class Monstrosity. Here defined Bad Form. Particular Bad Form extended Beyond The Obvious. MINI Sippy Car was thin enough to commandeer the Sidewalk and inch into Safe Place. With the arrival of Virtual Limousine, Bastard Neighbor's plunge into Old Man Territory is confirmed.

Note: Miss Grinch will not tolerate Bad Form when Beyond The Obvious even though MINI Sippy Car's thinness supplied Elevated Mood, and so...

Bastard Neighbor will now find Virtual Limousine missing, as Incomprehensible Tow Truck Driver has already come and gone.

hypophosphatemia, they say, but with only two successful food units, one must question this diagnosis.

How many times a day does one need to log on and check their transcript for finalized grades before becoming a complete loon? Well, I hope it's not less than 70. It's funny how it's so damn important to see this official statement of evaluation even though it is offered by people who lack the capacity to do so. I am waiting on one transcript out of three, know what it will say, but am prepared to pounce if it is screwed up.

Somewhere during the last two weeks of our term, Unorganized Professor must have flustered to the point of a volcanic paper explosion. For unrevealed reasons, he had gone missing for five sporadic weeks, and this meant the end of our course was lining up to involve two large exams and one cumulative final. This weight at the end, of that which I never felt I began, seemed realistic enough to perpetuate an insane level of The Doubt. In the midst of Unorganized Professor assumed distress, his decision to postpone Doomsday was pulled out from the Stupid Idea Drawer. Suddenly my end of the world (last Friday) was extended through an agonizing weekend, as now the holiday was to fall on Monday.

The end of the world. No, that isn't right. Monday saw the end of the current world. It is only a temporary freedom from formula, or structure, but I am too bored of that topic to bother with it here and now.

71 times? No, not yet. The transcript is still unavailable.

In addition to those huge exams which The Doubt said I could never be prepared for, Doomsday also included my last appointment with resident doctor #4 for awhile. Three weeks without a touchstone or influx of course work is mentally disastrous. I always look at resident doctor #4 as a series of several floating buoys, strategically spaced apart in a line, which lead out into the ocean. It's my job to swim five miles straight out toward the horizon-- which for me, a weak swimmer, is an impossible feat. I reluctantly enter the water and swim, knowing I'll die. Upon nearing each buoy, I find myself either swimming right by or perhaps treading, only to reflect on how The Doubt insisted I would be grasping and gasping. Finding a true safety which exists, and then being able to trust rather than question it, is allowing me to obtain incomprehensible levels of life.

Very nice, very reassuring, but right after reconnecting with resident doctor #4 in January I need to endure another three week stretch of ocean. I didn't ask where his vacation will take him. How could I supress the sneer? Upon hearing of the domestic, or internationally overrun postcard city, I would be apt to internally gloat. Certainly, resident doctor #4 will not be traveling anywhere exciting enough to bend my ear.

Spaced between his January buoy offerings are rescheduled physical exams. Medical testing, intake forms, foreign hands, questions which cannot be answered concisely-- all postponed from November. Could this be due to a dramatic increase in health insurance benefits which will begin on January 1st? Perhaps. The media presents my illness as epidemic to draw the attention of fascinated people who cannot suppress their libido, when in reality, my illness is rare and always brings a flurry of excitement in the medical domain. It's predictable-- multiple doctors will interrupt their schedule, squeeze into the examining room, and all consult. I'll be naked on a table and acting unaffected as they are enlightened by my answers and handheld into a very complex world.

One thing I never wanted to do was lead.
Can I just stab myself now?

72? Nope.

Now I'm worried. What if no additional physician is summoned? What if I am not good enough to warrant fantastic anticipation? A lack of attention would equal what size? Perhaps in an effort to spike the deep, I should order clenbuterol and purposely lock myself out of the house for the next few weeks. This morning was cold enough to scrape ice from the windshield of the car-- sleeping out there would facilitate the physical cause.

So Doomsday arrived and I stood behind resident doctor #4's chair. The question is: How am I going to learn to live without anxiety? He also wants me to restart and futz around with 'my choice' of medicine over the next few weeks to explore the emotions it offers. The second question: where do the numerous varieties of libido go when they are suppressed? If hunger, anxiety, and sexual desire are turned down, where are they- - they do still exist -- and so, what or how are they driving me now?

What did this medicine do? Foremost, it erased meaning and importance. Would I rather die than to have a tow truck driver from AAA come and jump start my car 10 times in one month? Yes, of course. That exact scenario did happen, and at the time, I didn't care whatsoever. Now I do, now I'm embarrassed. It was only after the medicine left my system that I sought out and installed a new battery in that car.

On obsessive login #73, my favorite thin number:
It appears I am taking my father to lunch.
Cumulative 4.0 at university 1, 2, and 3.
Eat that, Dad.

The medicine completely alleviated anxiety, but differently from how anti-anxiety medications have performed, and this lack of libido caused structure to break apart. I don't know how to keep life in order without an iron grip. It's as though 'strict and unwavering' is good because an unfamiliar loosening up 'is hard to keep contained' and at the current time, allows everything to easily go to hell. There is no concrete sense of balance as to how far life is allowed to loosen up. It might not be chaos, but any straggling from regiment obviously feels wrong.

The situation is that a massive project is due very soon, but at least I know the reason why my submission remains blank. I have learned that this is not a stress; rather, I really get off on days like this. This is no simple procrastination. This competition between myself, time, The Impossible, and perfection is tremendously exciting. There will come a time when my productions will not be easy, and only then do I think the process will change.

I keep trying to screw myself over so I (or that voice of the monster) can require a punishment. The over preparation I tend to do is too slick- I am not finding the failure able to properly attach itself.

Upon opening the directions for this project, which was assigned a l-l-long time ago, it wasn't very shocking to find out that too much time has passed to collect the required data. In fact, so much time has gone by, the archived data held on the web has already been replaced with much more recent constants.

So... I ran for an hour, returned, only to go out and run for another hour. Reluctantly, I had to come back when it was clear that mental and physical pain wasn't working to replace the theory on paper.

I must have argued futility for seven hours, stared into space for another three, but then finally sent out an e-mail to the entire class requesting help. This was huge. Due to the request and the level of relationship, this was probably my biggest action of the year in regard in conquering social phobia. Would you believe that every response said, "I'm in the same boat as you. If you get the information, please let me know."

Well, this *was* predicted. I can't be the one to ask others for help if functioning as The Collective's security. Even though I am safe (because the extra points collected in class more than overcompensate tripping up on this project) it was a strange position to be in, but I thought I would still try to reach out in the dark and say "I lack the facts."

What's funny is that I rant about people and their ineffectiveness, yet was still shy to show this quality to a group who, in turn, thought nothing of it. There was no threat of the lash, and no embarrassment or explanation needed-- everyone understood screwing up very well.

It's interesting how one of the horrible ways to mentally approach uncomfortable challenges like this is unavailable now. For example:

"In this case, I suck as much as you, but I'm sick and am supposed to put myself through this crap. Even though I didn't bother to do any of the research either, I can't be spit on like I do to you. See, even though you are usually not up to par, you're well. You don't get a pass. I do. Give it to me without any bad looks. Dare you say anything and I'll bash you with my disability bat."

It is *nice* to let that attitude go. Somewhere along the way I have improved and didn't notice its departure.

In the middle of the night, one classmate sent me her entire project. Fantastic. Now I know exactly what *not* to do. I subsequently forwarded the data to the others who were without, and now I am a hero with several offers to meet up for coffee. Too bad I'm not supposed to swallow, huh? Yeah, and too bad I lied in response and told them all that I lived in another area of the state.

[sigh]

Though I look forward to being scared by the upcoming mental obstacle course, I don't want this time to end.

Sifting the last of the semester through a makeshift frame and net/ hoping for the rock/ hoping to find something to pick up. The end of the world is right over there on friday/ unless i present a project which has yet to start on wednesday. Get it in gear/ start at the end. Oh gods of brilliant theories and thermodynamics/ have a chair. Morrissey may have spawned the perpetual metaphor but/ but/ november is now a history. How does one learn to engage anything when the traditional handful of dirt has been cast and situations are only another word for meaningless?

Ding/ no one ever dings me at three in the morning. Vicious prediction/ what if Unorganized Professor just cancelled our final exam?

"Good news," was spelled out on the first line of his e-mail. AND we all know that 'good news' is secret code for 'i cannot pull something together properly, and will instead make it look as though i am giving *all of you* a break, rather than appearing to take one for myself.' Oh yeah, that fun attitude remains. AND this upcoming vacation of mine/ will cap the obsession with community slack and complacency. No/ nothing was mentioned about reflecting on opinion/ but you're welcome.

Consider/ paternal reincarnation. "God, when did you turn into Dad?" Consider/ all of those times i have died. Close/ never counted. Constant levels of consciousness/ never inspired the blog.

Unorganized Professor does not understand THE RULES/ Unorganized Professor cannot cancel our exam. Illusionary protection/ the blinking bashful/ well, that bastard! THE RULES are important. Wait/ something is tempting about my pinched lips/ twitch the pain of excitement off from the end of my nose. Hmm/ the slack of a cancelled exam feels so french and dirty after only hearing oneself choke back on the leash.

Are we all on the same page?
I am tremendously disappointed to lose this last chance for evaluation.
I can now confirm my final grade.
Twisted entertainment/ i was honestly ill prepared
AND (secretly) rooted in numeric safety of a previous percentage.
AND it was finally going to appear that i took a loss!

consider: the predetermined risk and result/ why even live?

Mental replacement comes next. Sludgy depression is fat/ no match for REX's alternate obstacles. It sits more than it stands. Stress is over the tremors/ not the firecracker/ AND not the awareness/ AND not why panic saved me.

I had gone seeking out a concrete structure to rival my own warden this fall. If finding a professor who could adhere to a rule system, or at the very least, was known to keep one's word even when inconvenient, I could relax. THE RULES function as a safety and this promise of security pens anxiety into place. In the cage, Fear can realize as strong and fun as ever, but the back of the mind never forgets the truth of containment.

I found nothing this semester except for an inability to express anything but disgust toward individuals who lack discipline. The disgust remains but from now on I will articulate it better: Everyone I meet becomes desperate to benefit from the security my discipline offers, but no one is stringent enough to return the favor.

Bad attitude, check! Lonely world, confirmed.
Four years ago, I knew where to find me.
So why am I listening to The Doubt and typing from here?

This last season was done after hours, in more than double time, and as best as numerically calculable. In a few weeks, my personality is going to be available on multiple transcripts. This isn't an ambiguous achievement which can be left to one's own interpretation. There is no perception which can be skewed. How will the negative voice circumnavigate facts and whisper about inferiority now?

a resident doctor #4 day.
thank god.
it's been a few weeks.

last month resident doctor #4 sent me home with a prescription for topamax (topiramate). this is a risky medicine, often used to treat seizures or migraine headaches, and did not offer a side effect panel in either of our favors.

after securing multiple opinions, it is clear that people who claim to have "not really lost anything" while taking this medicine, were looking for huge reductions, and still have lost quite a bit of something or other. "how exciting. i'll take it immediately. who cares whether or not prescription drug coverage pays for it, or how expensive it may be, i would even buy this hope on credit." well, not so fast. resident doctor #4 wrote the prescription knowing my anorexia functions on a deeper level than the cues of hunger and satiety. since eating disorder thrives in its own created atmosphere, no response or manipulated bmi is expected. "you can't, er-- you won't lose any weight on topamax," he says.

a random patient who was prescribed this medicine may experience a lack of hunger, then either choose to act on the feeling by not eating, or by eating less. my eating disorder and process of securing units of food is now driven by environment or ritual. hunger and appetite will neither influence its architecture nor adequately process this personal maze. with that said, i should neither be excited to experience an automatic weight loss from topamax, nor be scared to test out a future drug which has patients notoriously report an increase in weight.

consider: the clinical trials. people are not losing weight on this pill due to actions related to hunger, satiety, elevated mood, or alleviated obsessions. in long term studies, there is an initial reporting of loss of appetite and reduced caloric intake, but then calories soon return to normal and weight loss continues. this suggests that mechanisms alter the energy balance rather than simply suppress food intake. a disruption in my energy balance will neither change my menu nor ritual, but it will change my body.

i started abusing adrenaline a few days after initiating this prescription. since adrenergic receptor abuse has neither pressed an issue alone nor in concert with other medicines in the past, all negative side effects experienced from the adrenaline were attributed to the topamax. long story short, the adrenaline preparation i was using has recently been reformulated and is no longer pure. its raw materials include allergens which cause me a lot of grief. skip ahead to now: the plan is to run a tiny trial of the original prescription medicine again, and toss out the discomfort. the new preparation of adrenaline was a pretty bad experience-- the excipient ingredients caused physical distress which never would have happened had the box been properly labeled.

in separating the two concerns, i doubt the topamax provoked any 'negative' side effects other than, if these are considered negative, an altered metabolism and remarkable dehydration. [the drop in weight, loss of vision acuity, and headache all stem from the change in metabolism and level of hydration.] if topamax did not donate the teeth gnashing anger, and can be confirmed to be from the adrenaline's excipients, it could be put to task without fear. the exciting aspect of physical subtraction could benefit a path to proper digestion.

consider: or not. i tend to get mesmerized by the appearing shadows from the loss of weight and, once romanced, looking toward metabolism as a companion for health is soon forgotten.

another concern is in regulating apathy and the lack of anxiety. when medicine eliminates an urgency, this is a problem. i am learning to use the anxiety and now somewhat rely on it. on one particular day last month, i received three parking tickets, and that isn't who i am. an extended water-only fast during that time seemed easier than ever. it is the apathy combined with anorexia, and not depression, which could kill me. a portion of anxiety is required.

here it starts: half a pill.

it all ends this week.
[breathe]
oh no! cue the repetitive statements of doom.

what am i going to go nuts about now?
oh, that.
well, that never left, so...

It wasn't expected so soon, but I just received the first evaluation for this term. Hey, only 11 more to dread! Unless .03% worth of leeway is considered a film, I just edged in by the skin of my teeth. How is that possible when it had been insisted that my portion of the world was required to bend into an optical illusion? What happened to all of those ones and zeros which stood in arrogant perfection? Well, when I decided to stop acknowledging November, it seemed unfair to select exceptions and everything in total was then sent to Hell.

I was too cheap to purchase the software for a required paper.
I did not submit the work.
The professor still awarded a final title of A.

Consider: Why would anyone want other people to know that they consider a portion of slack to be acceptable? Work hard, play hard-- I don't think this was the right place for the professor to admit to personally knowing The Pig. This evaluation says nothing of me and merely details the professor's own execution.

Desperate to force the Nutcase and rant about Netherworld Evaluation Scales-- to explain how in a life without elastic this Fake A should be awarded the same zero points as an F. Extremely Competitive University was routinely and jokingly referred to as my wasting of the dark ages away in Crackerjack College-- perhaps not.

University Then: "Only exact is perfect."
University Now: "Inadequate is perfect."

Consider: "No one was exemplary and thorough. No one wins. Just because you scored highest does not mean you do not suck."

There is absolutely no reason in the world that Invalid Friend Chuck cannot manage a full time job, an extremely well paid overnight part time position, and his second graduate degree, is there? He seems to have a problem with the fact the overnight job is actual work. I seem to have a problem in that he cannot maintain An Invalid Friend's Reduced Level of Par.

After posting about the inability to understand the urgency of an earlier season’s anxiety, Invalid Friend Chuck just revealed to me that his job will come to a close at the end of the month.

“I’m going to have a heart attack.”
v.
“Actually, I've been waiting for this. It's that time of year.”
v.
"Well, he wasn't earning as much at this job as we thought he would be."

Seven times, I think. This has happened seven times since I started writing on this blog but I always experience the same initial reaction.

another horrible wager involving lack of structure approaches. its substitution could kill me but people relate the insight earned from a few black and white outs are worth the price of an iv.

how things change.
how things stay the same.
how to then refuse the threat of amplitude?

courses are quickly coming to a close. the holidays interfere with therapeutic relationships. that alone is enough spark, but then the new year screams to the collective about the end of gluttony-- 100% weight loss. an empty head will have no capacity to ignore the calls for the other demographic, so this is a fueled chunk of time to be irresponsible. spanning from mid-december to early january, the threat of maximum displacement ends with celebratory medical testing. unless i mean death, all of the elements are combined and arranged to incite another perfect exercise of endurance. other people merely live out time in "months" but, how tame for those who insist on repetitive cocooning and a cyclical metamorphosis. mm-hmm, then i suppose you've heard-- it's already december.

why screw physical composition over when still in recovery from an extremely lengthy water fast? working oneself out of a mental hole punched out of physical abandon offers such satisfaction. whether the love affair consists of something to do, or is merely an intimately personal goal, acting as perennial smashed butterfly happens to be an occupation.

along with a new stream of caustic personality (one which intentionally tries to be the face of harm rather than trip people in the dark) last month's medicine also loosened up a few aspects of myself. a lack of concern touched everything except that which was essential or engaging. for instance, i totally forgot i had enrolled in a lame online class this semester in santa barbara. the recollection only struck this morning.

i logged on, completed the assigned work, and then requested the password for the final exam. everything is due this upcoming week so i really lucked out. now, after a ridiculous day in front of a thesaurus, i am reflecting on how this particular busy work was considered essential to deflect [illness] back during the time of enrollment.

i can't relate to last year or even this last summer. i know it was very real, but those in-the-sky levels of anxiety are incomprehensible. dissociation from what? what was so desperate to avoid that i needed to keep my brain busy? what was it that used to send me off running to be constantly immersed in foreign confusion?

example: a few months ago, a company tweaked the terms of a contract and sent notice of what they considered a minor increase in salary. it wasn't minor-- it was huge. why would this enormous supplementation cause four days of insomnia rather than sing me to sleep? i don't feel a twinge at all but know the anxiety experienced at the time was traumatic. what about the situation supplied the roller coaster? things are changing fast and it's amusing. the world is unsteady, yet yesterday, too, is somewhat unrecognizable.

i also cannot understand why that course work was even attempted today? what do i care about it? it's meaningless compared to what i have achieved and it cannot define me. so what? why did i not let it go? well, the truth is that this is a sunday, i was bored out of my mind, and it was somewhat entertaining to fit in an entire semester before dark.

this offer of evaluation by that course has no direction but will thwart a potential problem: "what if i get sick or overwhelmed with anxiety again and can't tolerate the fact i had the audacity to sign my name to a class and not finish it?" essentially, i did the work to protect me from myself.

is it bad to keep patching the past? the course work was done without agonizing or adding a flair, and though this was still a situation of all or nothing, perhaps it was astoundingly different.

a medicine taken last month bought the anger but i haven't the weight to continue with it. the harbored and $30 devil will get its own blog entry. not only is my attitude nasty, but i think rancid, too. so, if i wasn't fun before...

it's appalling and i should be writing daily.
the anger is even active in sleep.
dangerous- i woke up twice with bloody hands.