The hypo-ponimous is still in the room.
This concept of a virtual digital diary that anyone anywhere can read is fascinating... where was this when I needed it? - Who'm I kiddin'? I need this now!
I used to keep a hand written diary that I started one random new year's morning, not much of a random time to start something new I'd say, but I thought I was being cohesively original with the whole resolution concept, (cohesive because I promised I'd write daily and with the same exact pen) which for most people remains merely that - a concept, although to my surprise it lasted about 7 or 8 months, which when it did terminate, if you will, was not voluntary but rather almost mandatorily placed upon me. Looking back I might have hoped to keep it up for a full year - and if your just joining our program already in progress a.k.a. out of context that is quite the request and perhaps a detriment to any man's health although that too may be arguable as pleasure to the rest of us perverts - but alas I stopped writing in this archaic paper bound journal as it was a mere perpetuation and outcry for my hypochondria to blossom, though the paxil might have had something to do with the aforementioned lack of lasting both the journal and the other underlying innuendo: it only took 2 entries for me, yes the one that calls myself me, to hint at an erection; some things never change - don't act so surprised.
The journal did end. Well the act of writing my thoughts down anyway, but not so much the virtual journal, pre-blogger entity that I house upstairs and to some, don't use so well or efficiently or at all, others might argue - I personally avoid arguing most of the time and confrontation and anger are mere words in the dictionary - but the upstairs trinket is none other than my very own Barbie Malibu Mansion, ugh, I mean, my brain, yes that's it, my brain - how'd that flashback to Lidia's 7th birthday party slip into this stream of consciousness typing in the dark 1:32am moment?
Nevermind you now, I do keep myself up at night to avoid sleep and to erase journal entries of the past (upstairs in the mansion), and now to write new ones that you are reading now. But here's the rub: erasing the old hypochondriatic moments only makes room for the current ones and that's an ongoing battle only xanax can destroy - or therapy - or playing violin - or learning Italiano - or a Key West vacation - or the many things that keep myself and me occupied and away from the self sabotaging mindgames that the uncontrolled thoughts of what appear to be legitimate complaints keep putting into my head. Hypochondriacs need loving too - actually they say that's why we are so hypo, cuz we need attention, which is not entirely true cuz we don't really do it for the attention - I draw enough of that on my own - and usually my ailments turn out to be completely real and I just think it's cuz I'm very in tune with my own body. My own body. That's the key, it's my own -
my brain just shut down, I had a thought process that followed that last thought above, but it didn't make it down to my typing fingers. Say good night Gracie.
Good Night Gracie.
I used to keep a hand written diary that I started one random new year's morning, not much of a random time to start something new I'd say, but I thought I was being cohesively original with the whole resolution concept, (cohesive because I promised I'd write daily and with the same exact pen) which for most people remains merely that - a concept, although to my surprise it lasted about 7 or 8 months, which when it did terminate, if you will, was not voluntary but rather almost mandatorily placed upon me. Looking back I might have hoped to keep it up for a full year - and if your just joining our program already in progress a.k.a. out of context that is quite the request and perhaps a detriment to any man's health although that too may be arguable as pleasure to the rest of us perverts - but alas I stopped writing in this archaic paper bound journal as it was a mere perpetuation and outcry for my hypochondria to blossom, though the paxil might have had something to do with the aforementioned lack of lasting both the journal and the other underlying innuendo: it only took 2 entries for me, yes the one that calls myself me, to hint at an erection; some things never change - don't act so surprised.
The journal did end. Well the act of writing my thoughts down anyway, but not so much the virtual journal, pre-blogger entity that I house upstairs and to some, don't use so well or efficiently or at all, others might argue - I personally avoid arguing most of the time and confrontation and anger are mere words in the dictionary - but the upstairs trinket is none other than my very own Barbie Malibu Mansion, ugh, I mean, my brain, yes that's it, my brain - how'd that flashback to Lidia's 7th birthday party slip into this stream of consciousness typing in the dark 1:32am moment?
Nevermind you now, I do keep myself up at night to avoid sleep and to erase journal entries of the past (upstairs in the mansion), and now to write new ones that you are reading now. But here's the rub: erasing the old hypochondriatic moments only makes room for the current ones and that's an ongoing battle only xanax can destroy - or therapy - or playing violin - or learning Italiano - or a Key West vacation - or the many things that keep myself and me occupied and away from the self sabotaging mindgames that the uncontrolled thoughts of what appear to be legitimate complaints keep putting into my head. Hypochondriacs need loving too - actually they say that's why we are so hypo, cuz we need attention, which is not entirely true cuz we don't really do it for the attention - I draw enough of that on my own - and usually my ailments turn out to be completely real and I just think it's cuz I'm very in tune with my own body. My own body. That's the key, it's my own -
my brain just shut down, I had a thought process that followed that last thought above, but it didn't make it down to my typing fingers. Say good night Gracie.
Good Night Gracie.
posted by maciejc at 10:14 PM
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