| ::: ::: Journal entries: :::
::: Reading: Powers Vol. 3: Little Deaths, Brian Michael Bendis Check out: Beware car accidents involving little old ladies. Artifact:
Yes, my comics collection is coming along rather nicely, thanks for asking. | Tuesday, March 8, 2005 Sometime last summer, I don't remember exactly when, I decided to stop taking the Celexa that was prescribed to me the previous November. I'd gone to the doctor for anxiety, sort of hoping I'd be prescribed some magic elixir I could take in times of stress - you know, like Valium or something. Sadly, these days mama's little helpers have all been replaced by antidepressants. Oh sure, I guess they were "addictive" and "dangerous", but come on, if I was willing to take the chance, shouldn't the doctor have been? Despite all the potential for "lawsuits"? DAMN THIS HEALTH-FOCUSED SOCIETY OF OURS. Also, pass the Biggie fries. So I took the Celexa, for several months, until I decided the whole thing was silly and my serotonins were probably okay as is. I did some research and came up with a tapering schedule, since I am not actually dumb as a bag of hammers, never mind that one time I dropped my watch in the toilet. As I weaned myself off the happy pills, I had some headaches, some fatigue - nothing too surprising at first, but then I went through a week of what I can only describe as...well, have you read Carrie Fisher's new book, where she details the manic phase of her character, who is bipolar? It was like that, only with more methamphetaminelike symptoms. I couldn't keep a thought in my head for more than 5 seconds, which was useful, since I was having so very many thoughts, about all kinds of exciting stuff I should be working on. Like redecorating my entire house arranging all the spices in my kitchen according to frequency of use starting a huge research effort at work and finally taking that Spanish class, not that I actually started any one project because I was way too distracted by anything and everything including the length of my fingernails and the position of the sun. I jiggled my foot all day long, I drummed my fingers nonstop on any available surface, and in the evening when I finally cranked off the whack-a-mole game in my head and fell asleep, JB reported I would spend the entire night grinding my teeth - something I've never done before or since. Also, I talked. Oh lord, how I talked. I talked and talked and talked until I tripped over my words and got those little dry spitballs in the corner of my damn mouth and then I ran my fucking piehole some more. In the midst of this bizarre, jumpy period, I came up with a web-based business idea that was totally going to make JB and I millionaires. It was going to be called "Objects in Mirror" and it would be this social networking site where people would post their goals - lose 10 pounds, hike through Europe, whatever - and they could use all these neat little tools to keep track of their own progress and watch the progress of others. We'd get paid in GOLD INGOTS from the advertisers who would flock to be a part of the action, by offering up Weight Watchers coupons to the lose-10-pounders, discounted hotel rates to the backpackers, and so on. For one week, I went on and on and ON about that website like it was 1998 and I was on the hunt for venture capital. Then, I guess, the last of the chemicals drained from my system, because just like that - blip! - I was back to normal. With the manic energy gone, I lost interest in Objects in Mirror, just like I no longer had the desire to gnaw pencils to sawdust or twirl my hair for hours on end. I'd sort of forgotten about that whole Celexa-fueled week of weirdness until I stumbled across this website the other day. Let's see, they're privately held, located in Seattle, and funded by Amazon. My crazy pharmaceutical clusterfuck business idea, it was....VIABLE! I can't recommend the detox course of action if you're looking to become a, you know, creative visionary, if for no other reason that it's hard on your molars, but maybe there's some potential mental benefit to feeling like a cracked-out rhesus monkey. Who knew? ::: And now, for no particular reason, a dinosaur joke: Q: Why did the Archaeopteryx catch the worm? A: Because it was an early bird! HA HA HA HAAA! Oh, that's a good one. |
