eidolon

So.....
I heard about Linda Hamilton going public with her bipolar disorder. On one hand, good for her. It is misunderstood and research is in it's infancy. On the other hand, I fear that bipolar will now become the celebrity pity-cause of the week. It shouldn't be long, now, before everyone with an occasional mood swing will start talking about their own life-long battle. As someone living with type 2 (which was only recently identified and for which there are, as of yet, no approved medications), a solemn confessional on The View was the last thing I needed to see.

In my optinion, if she wanted to do some good, she could have quietly donated money to research that may actually break ground and bring knowledge rather than using an all too real malady to try and resurrect her nonexistant career.

It makes me think of Tony Soprano asking
"Whatever happened to the strong, silent type?"

I don't mean to say that she, or any of us, should hide, embarassed, in the shadows regardless of who or what we may be. I, personally, don't talk about it (beyond the faux anonymity of an alt-porn web journal, of course) simply because it is so misunderstood, and I have neither the energy nor the inclination to try and explain something that nobody, including psychological and medial professionals, understands with any certainty. Trust me. You don't want me as your spokesmodel.

Hopefully Buff-Linda's motivation is genuine. Hopefully, an existance all to real for some will not become the latest crutch for the wealthy, bored and moody.

Christ, if you want to be a bored, moody parasite feeding of the carcass of humanity, have the common decency to cultivate a smack habbit.

Yeah, I'm a bit cynical about the whole thing, but I'd say I've earned my disillusionment. In many ways, I can't help but feel that I've spent the last decade of my life as a (so far) failed experiment in pharmacology. All the while being strung along in the vain hope that, eventually, the person who I am, and always will be, will find a way to thrive within a world of torment. It's an ongoing battle that everyone fights, to one degree or another.

I've always been keenly aware, (maybe fortunately, maybe not) that there are parts of me continually vying for dominance. I've always had to balance the man that I am, with the man I show the world and the man I need to be. I think everyone faces this, to one degree or another, but for some of us, due to nothing more complex than an unfortunate balance of chemical make-up and exterior triggers, achieving balance can remain out of reach, if just barely.

Personally, the story of 'The Incredible Hulk' is a little too familiar.

What can anyone do other than play the hand that they're dealt? Folding just isn't an option. Of course, neither is showing your hand to the world.

But hey, that's just my opinion, I could be wrong.
Somebody fetch me my SOMA.

*On to other things*

The left nipple has been re-pierced after surfacing this winter. 8g now, and, if all goes well, I should be back even at 4g on both sides (and back to my lovely 5/8" circular barbells) in a couple short months.

The fridge has been re-stocked with coldcuts, grapes (red, seedless), olives, more beer and Merkt's port wine spreadable cheese.
You can take the boy out of Wisconsin, but.....

4 custom, vested suits have been ordered, as work, and potential respectability, are on the horizon. Carnaby Street's got nothin on me.
I just need a couple of decent pair of dress boots and I'll be dressed in full business incognito. My facade should hold up as long as I manage to resist buying the red, snakeskin, Fluevog Beatle boots, though my resistence is waning.

So wrong, they might be right.

If I was in Vegas, nobody would look twice.
If I was in Vegas, I'd have bigger problems.
Penn Jilette is not a role model.
*Repeat*
Penn Jilette is not a role model.