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Psycho-babble in C Minor
Psycho-babble in C Minor
God is an astronaut... the universe is dying... time is incomplete.
I remember the day that my greatest curse manifested itself. I was 8, and it was a Monday. One of the Mondays. Twice a month on every other Monday my father would take me to the doctors office to get reassurance that I was going to turn out normal. I was an obese kid growing too fast for my own body, had Osgood-Schlatter disease, and poor coordination. The men in his family, including my brothers, were
typically natural athletes, and it bothered him that the wildcard gene finally produced someone from his stock of only mediocre physical aptitude. He didn't know then that I would grow to be a very talented and athletic individual; that even accomplished athletes such as Mark McGwire suffered from the same growing pains. He just knew he had a fat kid with no hope of ever bringing home a trophy. But that particular Monday he also confided in the doctor about other concerns. The fact that I often talked to myself aloud, and that I had the uncanny gift of solving
problems from my older brother's math books while dreaming. The latter would surely be a good thing if it weren't for the fact that I often did
it while talking in my sleep, and the cryptic rambling was starting to scare my brothers who slept in the same room.
That Monday's visit started a domino effect that led to an onslaught of aptitude batteries and visits with behavioral experts that concluded with my father being told that I was "cognitively unique". My brother Ken wanted to take me to church so the congregation could pray for me. My
brother Darryl jokingly wanted to know if I was going to get super powers. My sister, developing her own serial killer theory, wanted to know if they could get rid of me, fearing I would wake up one night in a demented fit and kill the whole family in their sleep. Ahh... there's nothing like the special bond of love between a girl and her baby brother. My parents, reacting more maturely, decided on what I thought was an even worse fate: advanced education.
That's it. Now my friends are really going to know I'm weird. What can you say when everyone knows the elementary school you go to is only for
kids with learning disabilities, or ones that are too smart for regular schools. And the stigma was sure to follow me through high school. Trust me - there's no use trying to impress people by being the football and track & field letterman when you go to a school with an IQ test as an
entrance exam. By 17, I was convinced I'd end up dead from a drug overdose like some rock star, or in a mental institution with 15 cats writing out the unified theory of physics on a toilet paper roll. Life sucks big hairy slong sometimes.
Well, it's been 15 years and no overdose. Let guys like Steven Hawkins worry about unified theory. I haven't so much as hit a joint since
freshman year of college, and the last psyche eval I took with the military eludes to me being just barely short of needing professional help. Just barely. No demon possession. No X-Men powers. No statewide killing spree. Just a fascination with solving logic problems, and an
overactive brain that won't shut the fuck up. Well, I take that back; occasional bouts of philosophical discussion between the left and right hemisphere subsides during a long run, a snowboarding session, or really good sex. But it's 2am, and I sit here sifting through random noise for bits and pieces of the answers to the project I'm working on for grad school.
"black matter" is too heavy... gravity's too weak... and the ultimate secret to female sexual satisfaction is probably written on the back of a
chewing gum wrapper, stuck to the bottom of a bus stop bench in the middle of Nebraska... DAMN!
I've got a great mind. I love my mind. My mind and body are my two most favorite toys, and I play rough with both of them. I'm not just talking 5-year-old brat with a Tonka toy dump truck rough. I'm talkin' S&M dungeon in the basement with video cameras, ropes, and 14" black monster dildos rough. But there's always over spill. Those random thoughts that get past the gateguards. And so this blog was born. I log them here so I don't have to file them away in my head - funny, sad, or just plain confusing.
love is an illusion... thongs rock... domestic animals probably learned human language long ago, but fake stupidity to avoid talking politics and religion... and I really need to find that bus stop.
4/26/2005 9:14 pm
No one likes to be different even if the different is gifted--however it served you well in later life..|
God-- I wish I could halfway write like you-- I am jealous