At Least I Am Not Diabetic

I don’t really have an idea for a Top Ten list today. I was hoping the ladies over at The Frisky would have written something good for me to critique this week. Unfortunately the coolest thing I found over there was a story about how scientists have found a way to research what kinds of emotional or psychological issues we might face in our lives based on birth months. For example, if you were born in December, like my mother, there’s a chance Chron’s disease or schizophrenia may play a role in your future. April, my birth month, is apparently the cruelest of all. April babies have high probability of being affected by alcohol abuse (yup), asthma (nope), autism (not that I know of), bipolar disorder (not yet), diabetes (nope), eating disorders (yup), glaucoma (not yet), Hodgkin’s disease (no), low IQ (definitely no), motor neuron disease (nope), Multiple Sclerosis (no), narcolepsy (no), Parkinson’s disease (no), personality disorders (not that I know of), and seasonal affective disorder (yes). You can find out for yourself what you may or may not have to deal with in the future here.

I could have gone with a stupid top ten list like the best episodes of Seinfeld or ten prep baseball players I would have taken before Brandon Nimmo if I was the New York Mets scouting director, but none of my ideas seemed quite good enough for you. Swan Fungus readers expect near-perfection from every Top Ten.

Instead I look around my room and stumble across an old notebook. It’s dated “August 30th, 2007 – __________”. There are a few pages left blank towards the end, a byproduct of the laziness which manacled me for far too long. One of the last entries is rather telling. February 27th, 2008:

“Why contemplate the wreckage? Why smile and muse about the war? All shattered, cracked voices and broken spirits. All morsels of speech daggers sharp and brandished in a crowded room. It doesn’t bring joy to me anymore. It does not make life easier for me anymore. This is not being pragmatic. It only intensifies the simmering fear. What brave souls exist in harmony? A lack of conscience would be nice right now. Who are the ones that can endure waves of crushing? Their bones should be my bones, and those untwisted spines should teach mine to unwind. I’m just frightened, is all. So I choose words too carefully so as not to sound combative, and my smiles lie when asked if all is right. Because it is true what they say about our pasts, and I don’t plan on waiting to watch yours come back around and repeat itself. There’s more to love than living in constant fear. I just haven’t figured out what, yet. Stories shared, advice lent intended to bring about positive change, but you seem so unwilling to change, and i don’t want to hate myself for forcing you to change. I think I already do. This static alters conversation. I rethink what I say each time it has been said and wish it could return to my lips unsaid. Take two, three or four might sound better. It could finally sound right. I’m sorry for wanting to rescue your vessel from dangerous waters. I should know by now to let nature take its course. I should have left you to float. Now my ship too is lost at sea. Directionless. We float. No sails. No speed. No guidepost. No lighthouse. We are in this endless night, carried by the current. Pulled under royal colored waters into a depthless trench. No sound. This is a dead place, a feared place, a forgotten place, a sacred place. Like a mystery from a dream that cannot be recalled. Like a complex math problem that cannot be solved. Lost. Unsettled. Unused. Unravelled. Unremembered. Doomed. Discouraged. Untrusting. Unloved. Needlessly cast off and left to rot.”

Big fun burger post tomorrow. It’s been a long week.

Magas – Whiskey Nights
Mecht Mensch – Zombie