Moon Shine in the Tombs

"Half the country are on them."-- Hugh Laurie. the last biting Englishman who had my undivided attention

Perhaps Fee did me a small favor, the publisher's two lines of severance made me sit straight and take stock, as my pitch wasn't just work, I wanted to do it, and wound up setting myself up; in concession to the gentleman in charge, I wasn't sure I understood myself either, and cannot discuss it in further detail until I abandon the idea or repair it. Sigh. The more I have to rely on my verbal skills, the fewer options I see.

Three years ago, I was venting because neighbor Ed Berkowitz connected me to mental health consumer Zach Tollen, and Liberty on The Rocks, providing connective sinews as it does, connected Mr. Tollen and the spastic dowager's indignation without the assistance of an equally broken Jewish facilitator, and I put a label on Zach for some of the young Turks in computing who show up on occasion with the rest of the crew. One such Turk, who, (surprise) gave me his telephone number, which was kind, told the Black Adder, my pathetic pseudonym for John, the local in charge, that libertarians tend to be on the autistic spectrum. I found the observation pertinent, and thus correct myself that the energy of young minds have nothing to teach me.

I did overreact for losing my temper with Mr. Berkowitz over attempting to hook Zack and I together, but wasn't wrong about how utterly inconsequential it was. Zach is an impotent mouse hesitant to put one foot in front of the other; I am belligerent, depressed, and vacating such tenuous security I have under Riverside's constant duress. I also confused Melissa Horton with my anger at her and Mike for sucking me into the Yabberz vortex, but I recognized the pathology of my former mental health consumers in harleyboy66, and his Canadian residence wasn't far enough away. Not for me. He had a need for adhesion, one which might have been alarming.

I am also placing extraordinary demands on myself, and probably cannot keep it up much longer. There are legitimate concerns, however, in mixing SSRI's and anti-anxiety medication, with brains damaged by cerebral palsy lesions. Wellbutrin made my mother's sister comfortable, but I did not respond to it well, and I've had to reduce my spending on fish, whose regular dosage in caplets and fillets did work better. It isn't really possible for medical model panaceas to restore me to the professional class via which I earned a living, but if I am going to go Julianne garbled, then it is over. I debate following Mariska Hargitay as if it was as momentous as losing my current address. The reason for this silliness is an interview she did with Terry Gross, years ago. The actress was bewildered by the fact that instead of the usual fan mail, she was contacted by special victims such as I.

I identified with Mariska's bewilderment, with the vulnerability in her voice, and feel the exact same need to reach out to her in relation to the assaults about which I've posted. It makes no sense, that people tend to believe actors, and even writers, have "the solution," in sniper lingo. I've gotten fan mail, in as dire straights as I am today, in the barren impoverishment of young adulthood.