While helping my son with his math times tables, I found myself confused with 5 X 9 and 6 X 9. I have always been fascinated with the fact that 45 and 54 are mirror images of each other. Left handed and right handed versions of things also interest me, sugars and dimeric things. I am mentally ill. Being a Star Trek fan, I doubt where I never doubted before. I was never a good speller, now I suck chum as a speller. Not only do I tell myself the same stories over and over again, now they have subtitles. German or Spanish phrases fly through my mind while I retell the near same versions of tales. I cannot even begin to deliver a quote of a movie or a book. Even if I could remember it, by the time I finished it I would would not even know why I was talking. It is like waking up from a drunken blackout and find yourself talking, which has only happened to me once. I thought I was just sleeping but I woke up at a dinner party telling a joke. It had to be funny, everyone was laughing.
Mental illness is great though. I can take even less responsibility for things. I can blame most of it on raising children. Those mindless brain damaged mutants we love not only suck the life out of us but they actually cause brain damage. Twenty years of deciphering lies and cryptic messages while all the time trying to be celibate and useful will destroy brain cells. There should be a labelling campaign. A man's penis and a woman's vagina should be tattooed at birth with a warning. "Children are the leading cause of brain damage in adults"
While at Wally-World, a three year old is screaming for ice cream and I autonomically jerk hard left driving my shopping cart into a pile of carrots. I am not taking responsibility for that. That noise sent shooting pains into my cerebellum and down my sciatic nerve and down to fifth metatarsal bone and its associated phalanges and out my pinky toenail. Mental illness means no responsibility. I will start talking to myself louder and then a twitch will grow into a tick. I will find a nice comfy chair and rock back too far, bang my head on the fireplace mantle and it will be time for a dirt nap. As it should be.
Mental illness is great though. I can take even less responsibility for things. I can blame most of it on raising children. Those mindless brain damaged mutants we love not only suck the life out of us but they actually cause brain damage. Twenty years of deciphering lies and cryptic messages while all the time trying to be celibate and useful will destroy brain cells. There should be a labelling campaign. A man's penis and a woman's vagina should be tattooed at birth with a warning. "Children are the leading cause of brain damage in adults"
While at Wally-World, a three year old is screaming for ice cream and I autonomically jerk hard left driving my shopping cart into a pile of carrots. I am not taking responsibility for that. That noise sent shooting pains into my cerebellum and down my sciatic nerve and down to fifth metatarsal bone and its associated phalanges and out my pinky toenail. Mental illness means no responsibility. I will start talking to myself louder and then a twitch will grow into a tick. I will find a nice comfy chair and rock back too far, bang my head on the fireplace mantle and it will be time for a dirt nap. As it should be.
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