Show Me Yours and I'll Show You Mine

I thought long and hard before I called this blog “Random and Ridiculous.” Mostly for the fact I had no discipline for any sort of theme aside from cheap thrills and snark. Whatever happened after that was, well, random. The last several months I played “human” between personal emotional dives, unemployment and financial Armageddon. In between all of this I sank deeper into quicksand on my love seat. Then I hit the bottom of the quicksand. I think. Or was it cat litter? Probably me just trying to impress myself with my prose.

Right now ”Random and Ridiculous” is turning into a warm and fuzzy journal of my battle with my new friend Bipolar 2. How the medication just fixed me right up and now I have animated blue birds following me wherever I go. Yes, just like a Lifetime Movie or a Disney classic, right? WRONG! Quit reading this now and pop in a copy of that Patty Duke true life story of her battles with Bipolar 1. At least she got to have some wild times and made bank with the movie. Me – the staff at Raley’s Rx are knowing us by sight.

Anyway for all two of my readers I hate to disappoint you that it’s not 3:15 am with my mascara running and me falling/stumbling into furniture No foot long lines of white powder on an Italian designer glass table. Instead my older (mission style) coffee table boasts an Indian brass bowl, empty diet soda, old Blackberry, older Ipod, scattered PI sheets, purple bong, clearance rack candles with holder and a book on identifying birds of Northern California.That’s not even a D- on the reality star sleaze scale. But did you notice how seamlessly I slid in the purple bong in that list? This is California. That’s why it’s D-, not F.

But tonight, as soon as my wiped and medicated body hit the sheets next to a grouchy cat on a heating pad, my brain clicked. ZING! So I’m back up, hacking between tokes trying to keep the racing in my head under a 7 until my last Klonopin of the day, taking its sweet goddamn time as always, kicks in and slows down my brain and destroys my typing. Since my infamous Pristiq meltdown, my brain is at full tilt even when asleep. Not only my dreams are in Technicolor, they are in sound and now, since the Buspar/Klonopin cocktail routine (not even with a goddamn olive), I actually smell within my dreams. Unfortunately I’m not Dorothy running through lovely poppy fields. More like Dorothy in dusty pen full of pig shit before that Kansas tornado.

Writing sporadic, self-centered, droning word salad is now how I try to direct my over-racing brain into some sort of activity that requires no skill or coördination. Having to use skill and coördination can amp my already low frustration level up from throwing glasses cases against a wall to a three-state killing spree. However, this way I can simply warp, tease, or go into complete denial without fear of arrest. This trail of words may prevent that same level of anxiety Whitney felt when down to her last 8-ball.

Wait, too soon for Whitney? Why don’t you tell me your definition of “soon” and I’ll tell you mine. We’ll stay up all night and giggle about our silly ideas about how life would be when we were grownups and could do as we pleased. Remember, how mommy and daddy told you could even be President if you set your mind to it? I was told I was on the fast track to failure but then mommy died and I never knew my daddy. At four I do remember asking if I ever did anything right? Never got an answer.

Take a well-deserved break and show me your list of dreams. I promise I’ll show you mine. Here’s a hint about my list: Ending up being crowned Bipolar 2 vixen didn’t make my Top 100. It’s worse than 40 years of wearing sad polyester Sears suits, selling insurance and drinking myself into a stupor every night.

Tell me all about your shattered dreams and I’ll tell you mine. Then we’ll have hot cocoa. Maybe after cocoa there’ll be “poof” in the kitchen and we’ll have a Donna Reed-type wearing apron, heels and pearls making us pancakes with smiley faces made of chocolate chips! With real maple syrup!

Miracles of miracles! The Klonopin is kicking in as my typing is becoming atrocious. It’s a win-win for both of us! With luck I should get my Lamictal by the end of this week. Then we’ll see if I can come up with some snark on current events so you won’t have the see the Wicked Witch of the West melt every night. Remember how that freaked you out when you were five? Almost as bad as seeing Bambi’s mom get shot. But unlike life, movies have happy endings.