Dodging my salts. Meaning deliberately not taking psych meds, lithium being a salt. I did that a few times, went to the college library and read poetry. Whenever I dodge my salts these days, it’s never on purpose but just because I forget. Troubled by basketball traveling. Not dribbling enough while taking the pill to the hole.
Complaints: Rashy glabella, flakes, itching, third eye skin disease lurking in the genotype-patterns as the symmetrical coloration of a cat’s fur hides in the DNA of the zygote.
If you believe (or at least proclaim unprompted as a defensively justifying rationale) that “love is not a limited resource” . . . you might be polyamorous
If you’re at least slightly ugly and are lowkey hedging your bets for someone better because you’re shallow and don’t know what you want, yet are scared of being hurt, while never actually willing to be vulnerable,
I’m on a constant search for that pleasurable audial battering of the spirit, that thumping bass that cracks the ribs and sends the body into overdrive, past the limit of human experience into pure physical release, an ecstatic brutality unlike any other. I’m listening to Drug Store Core Boy by La Peste, an old mix by a DJ who I haven’t heard anything else from, but judging by this tape,
I haven’t been at a Christmas party like this since I was 18. Maybe 19. That’s not true. I’d dated other people and been to large family gatherings, but this is different. Families with kids, grandparents, friends of all ages. It’s Christmas Eve and the sixth day of Hanukkah.
At 18 it was a Thanksgiving party. Everyone was going to take over the world. Projecting future plans. Guys were showing off their new XBOXes.