I don't know what to say because I haven't written anything in awhile. There is one thing I might try. You know, to see how it goes.
In intro psych, which I endured for an entire school year way back during the end of Carter's term, we learned the basics of free association. Hopefully, that will fill up enough space to make this look like an article while allowing enough room for a dry cleaning ad.
I tried free association with a psychiatrist once. He assumed that I was schizophrenic, so I had to take Haldol for months. Or maybe the assumption was made because, during a Rorschach test, I thought I saw a gorilla lifting a barbell while admiring himself in a mirror. If the Rorschach weren't a projective test, I swear I could almost have laughed.
The Free Association Technique, for some reason or another, always makes me think of food and I gain weight following the technique. (There's a joke in there.)
Free association is actually fun when you don't feel resistant to opening up and you know that your doctor doesn't take you all that seriously. However, if either of those conditions isn't met, one of two things will probably occur: either you feel too uncomfortable to say what's on your mind ("when I was seven, I got caught peeing on a neighbor's bush" may be on your mind, but if you don't know your doctor would you be comfortable telling him that?), or you do feel comfortable about spilling your guts to a doctor who may be considering reserving a room for you where Xanax is free and the windows only open from outside.
Sorry. That last sentence was longer than Bernie Madoff's.
Every few minutes or so, I lean back in my Broyhill chair and look up at the ceiling fan. That always reminds me of the beginning of Apocalypse Now, when Martin Sheen's character confused the sound of a ceiling fan with the rotating blades of a Huey that had come to take him to his next duty assignment. Mine is dustier. I stare at the thing hoping not to distract myself from that fact that I'm trying to think of something to say. It occurs to me, looking at Glacier Bay's finest, that maybe there's no such thing as Schizophrenia. Maybe there's only the inability, by some, to segue between thoughts. I can segue like a pro when I'm not tired and I have something to write about. Wouldn't be awful to be thought of as crazy because you don't include "speaking of that..." in conversation? What some may perceive as Schizophrenia may actually be parsimony.
I empathize with my brothers and sisters who have Schizophrenia. I don't, but I do have a Bipolar disorder and that sometimes drives me to evade segues in an attempt to be parsimonious.
Speaking of that, we Bipolars also like to cut to the chase when we're feeling "up". On the other hand, when we're feeling low we can really go off on tangents. I loved writing term papers in college, and I feel sorry for every proff who had to give me pointers regarding avoiding tangents in my term papers.
I took Xanax, they took tranquilizers and wine.
Sorry to drag you into this. I don't think I'm going anywhere with this rambling other than to have a little fun and to get back into writing. Oh, and maybe to inspire a few people to wonder what the hell my problem is.
That's okay, though. It's 2:48 AM and I had some free time.
In intro psych, which I endured for an entire school year way back during the end of Carter's term, we learned the basics of free association. Hopefully, that will fill up enough space to make this look like an article while allowing enough room for a dry cleaning ad.
I tried free association with a psychiatrist once. He assumed that I was schizophrenic, so I had to take Haldol for months. Or maybe the assumption was made because, during a Rorschach test, I thought I saw a gorilla lifting a barbell while admiring himself in a mirror. If the Rorschach weren't a projective test, I swear I could almost have laughed.
The Free Association Technique, for some reason or another, always makes me think of food and I gain weight following the technique. (There's a joke in there.)
Free association is actually fun when you don't feel resistant to opening up and you know that your doctor doesn't take you all that seriously. However, if either of those conditions isn't met, one of two things will probably occur: either you feel too uncomfortable to say what's on your mind ("when I was seven, I got caught peeing on a neighbor's bush" may be on your mind, but if you don't know your doctor would you be comfortable telling him that?), or you do feel comfortable about spilling your guts to a doctor who may be considering reserving a room for you where Xanax is free and the windows only open from outside.
Sorry. That last sentence was longer than Bernie Madoff's.
Every few minutes or so, I lean back in my Broyhill chair and look up at the ceiling fan. That always reminds me of the beginning of Apocalypse Now, when Martin Sheen's character confused the sound of a ceiling fan with the rotating blades of a Huey that had come to take him to his next duty assignment. Mine is dustier. I stare at the thing hoping not to distract myself from that fact that I'm trying to think of something to say. It occurs to me, looking at Glacier Bay's finest, that maybe there's no such thing as Schizophrenia. Maybe there's only the inability, by some, to segue between thoughts. I can segue like a pro when I'm not tired and I have something to write about. Wouldn't be awful to be thought of as crazy because you don't include "speaking of that..." in conversation? What some may perceive as Schizophrenia may actually be parsimony.
I empathize with my brothers and sisters who have Schizophrenia. I don't, but I do have a Bipolar disorder and that sometimes drives me to evade segues in an attempt to be parsimonious.
Speaking of that, we Bipolars also like to cut to the chase when we're feeling "up". On the other hand, when we're feeling low we can really go off on tangents. I loved writing term papers in college, and I feel sorry for every proff who had to give me pointers regarding avoiding tangents in my term papers.
I took Xanax, they took tranquilizers and wine.
Sorry to drag you into this. I don't think I'm going anywhere with this rambling other than to have a little fun and to get back into writing. Oh, and maybe to inspire a few people to wonder what the hell my problem is.
That's okay, though. It's 2:48 AM and I had some free time.
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