short takes
well
I've been offline most of the week with a bad case of SMAC addiction, but in the end, Brother Lal had no choice but to capitulate to the University. The dozen Singularity Planet Busters didn't hurt my case, either.
A couple days ago, I was having an anxiety attack. Pretty minor stuff, really, except that they can lead to panic attacks, and, frankly, I don't need those. Bad. Tres bad. So, flapping my arms didn't help, smoking too many cigarettes didn't help, talking to Noteponymous, jumping jacks, nada.
I dug through the Hallowe'en box, a huge Rubbermaid tub, until I found a small plastic container of blue greasepaint and applied warpaint, Braveheart style.
It was astounding.
Incredible.
In the space of ten seconds, everything was better. It was as if someone had coated me in fine dark chocolate. Suddenly, my nerve endings were no longer exposed to the chill, the teeth of the bastard file of daily life. My AC went to -24, my charisma doubled, and Mandy Patinkin was singing Oh, What A Wonderful World somewhere very far away.
I think I may be doing another collage soon. This pack of Export 'A' lights has possibilities, speaking to me the way Gauloises spoke to Robert Motherwell.
Some classified information has come down the pike, as well. No, not government or business, just stuff that I am not permitted to speak about in public. Believe me, I want to, it's eating a hole in my brain keeping it in...