A journal of questionable quality

Wednesday, April 04, 2007

Mental health, puffiness, busy brain

Too late he realizes...
...surveying his face in the mirror, that an increase in his 'anti everything' pills, the age old, and still booming Tryptanol, have, other than dulling the raw edges of his emotions, also managed to cause the usual; a general bloating of the face, in fact the entire body.

Not as good look, and a side effect that is avoided by using a more modern drug, but, already well demonstrated, I feel the effect of late model scripts happening in my head and don't like it at all.

Apparently it is the time of year, maybe the period of my life when I need a top up, something to stop the mind working overtime, slow it enough to get some sleep, as if sleep should be a problem with the load of hypnotics, barbiturates and antihistamines already on board by sleep time.

A busy brain is a blessing sometimes, but more often a bitch; not enough time to get ideas on paper, considering the old solution, carry a tape recorder; too many ideas, on too many fronts - I'm well used to it, but still it's an imposition.

Creativity peaks these times, too often hopelessly impossible plans, limited by size, cost, ability. Noted, stored, and perused at a later date, and some, surprisingly, still make sense; some don't.

The futility of chemically rewiring the brain. Fact is, it's probably best left to it's own plan, make people meet you the way you are, rather than presenting as the way they expect. I tell them I'm sedated. They can believe, or not, as they prefer. I've already proved that you can say anything to anyone and they will only take the bits they want to believe, the pieces they can handle.

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