It Ain't Truth If It Doesn't Hurt

Useless Trivia Has Taken Over My Brain...

Basically...my brain has been overcome with useless trivia. Pretty much all I am good for is playing quiz games and answering trivia questions. When the grid falls and people are judged by their skills (like being able to shoot things or grow things and stuff)...the only thing I'll be able to do is entertain the maurauding soccer moms and the poor poor computer geeks that will be wandering the earth (their eyes hollow and vacant) with facts about the British Royal Family and theoretical physics. Try as I might...I can't remember my Mother's home telephone number...but let some random fact flash in bold across the tv screen...and it's emblazoned in my mind forever. If you could make a career out of playing You Don't Know Jack...I'd be set. Unfortunately...people prefer that you be able to do useful things...like...build a log cabin or torture enemy combatants.

It's pretty ridiculous...the number of random facts I know about Minnesota...is borderline obsessive compulsive. And it's all because one day I read through a teacher recruitment packet from the Minneapoluis Public Schools. It was as if someone had stuck a USB cable in my ear and hit download. But let me not use my ATM card for more than a week, and I have to call the credit union to get my pin number reset.  But I'll never forget that Minneapolis has more theaters per capita than any place else in the United States except New York City and the average daily temperature in Minnesota in January is -9 degrees.

I, of course, blame the U.S. education system. For years...day after day...you are taught to memorize facts, statistics, formulas, dates, and class schedules and regurgitate them at will. If you are lucky you may encounter an educational program...before college...that tries and makes you think a little bit on your own and actually come to some conclusions based on research and evidence instead of just spouting whatever your last teacher told you about Vietnam as soon as someone shouts...you have 45 minutes to complete section one. I was lucky...in high school I was in the International Baccalaureate program...a rigorous academic program that does a decent job of asking students to think critically about their education. Unfortunately....by the time students get to IB in the 9th grade they've already had 10 years of propaganda. I remember in the 10th grade suggesting...out loud even...that Columbus was a genocidal murdering racist moron...and the uber-conservative Mormon kid in front of me, Nate Paynter (by the way...he's fat now...karma)...turned around and said "shut up, porker." Ahhhhh...intellectual discourse at its best.

It's a sad day when all your friends are going to build a house with Habitat for Humanity and they suggest you stay behind and get the Trivial Pursuit game board set up. That didn't really happen...but that's what they would do. Cheeky bastards. Basically...I've been trained to think critically (which shouldn't be under valued)...but thinking critically isn't going to get the fish to jump out of the lake once the international economic system collapse and Whole Foods shuts its doors forever. (I actually do now how to catch and clean fish...I am from Minnesota...where there are 22 lakes within the Minneapolis city limits and the city was planned so that no citizen lives more than one mile from a public park...ridiculous...I told you).

So...basically...I am relegated to wowing the family at holiday board game nights and having a rousing good time by myself watching jeapordy and trying to beat the daily champions score from the night before. But if anyone ever needs to know why black holes emit radio waves or the definition of the Heisenberg Uncertain Principle...I'll be there...useful...for a moment or two.

Adventures in Clubbing...

So...just about every week Jose tries to pry me out of my apartment and lure me to one dance club or another. In general...I am able to distract him with something glittery and make my get away. But yesterday, I decided that I should probably stop acting as if I were 82 instead of 28, and I told Jose that I would go out with him.  I can remember a time when I was the one dragging people to the club. It was a rare week that went by that I couldn't be found sipping fruity beverages and shaking my money maker at the local queer meat raffle. And if there was a drag show going on anywhere accessible by public transportation...you could bet your girdle that I would be there...with my dollars out ready to scream myself hoarse for Miss Puerto Rico Continental Plus, Miss Southern States, or some sad queen that pelted the audience with costume jewlrey every time she did a wind up and spin (RJ...you know what I'm talking about).  But sometime around the age of 25...I realized that 1/3 of my income was going to cover charges, and if I really wanted to get drunk with my friends we could buy a bottle of something and take care of that business in the comfort of our own home and avoid any unpleasent Coyote Ugly moments.

Since moving to Albuquerque, I've gone out approximately three or four times. The first time...Josefina La Gran Puta was supposed to meet me at AMC. I'd been in town all of three days...and this heifer smoked up and passed out at home...leaving me at this hole in the wall gay bar with barely an idea of how to get home. That one came very close to death that night. Yes she did. At least he didn't pull a Gigi Archibeque...who failed to show up to the club one night by bar close...and this was when I was visiting...back when I was still on YouthAction's board...it was winter...I didn't have my coat...and I ended up having to go to an after party with some random boys that picked me up in the parking lot. I still don't let her live that one down. But back to last night.

So last night I put on something hot...and jumped into the Kaiser. I scooted down to the good old Pulse...and met up with Jose and Jeremiah (I love me some Jeremiah...she is double fierce with two snaps in Z formation). We had a blast. We formed a circle and elbowed our way onto the dance floor...avoiding the flailing white boys and the attempts by sub-standard GoGo boys to appropriate our dollar bills. The music was good...and we were dropping it like it was hot, blending our milkshakes, popping coochies and there was even a special moment when we all busted out and did the snake. It was high faggotry at its best.

One of the highlights of the evening was actually getting to see Jose's former boyfriend one Mr. Joseph in person. This boy's pictures do not do him justice. Ms. Ramirez was very lucky last night that I love her and value her friendship...otherwise...me and Joseph would have been bumping uglies in Bernalillo all night long! The night was going spectacular...we were sweaty from dancing...and then...the lights came up. If you've ever been in a gay bar at bar close when they turn on the overhead lights...it's like a scene from the Gremlins...people start screaming and running for the shadows yellin' "BRIGHT LIGHT BRIGHT LIGHT." And I know a few of those boys at the bar last night definately were fed after midnight. Not cute.  We started making our way towards the exit when Jose's gal pal made a detour for the bathroom. We accompanied her. As we were sitting waiting for her to finish her bidness...a black guy with dreds came in the bathroom and made a comment about us moving along. I very nicely said to him that we were just waiting for our friend, and we would be on our way. Jose said nothing and just sat on the bench. Well...obviously his silence was mistaken for attitude...because before you could say Janet got a weave...this black queen was in Jose's face...unprovoked. Well...that only served to wake up the ghetto beast that is never far from the surface in Jose...these two went at it like two old ladies at a bargain bin..then the bouncers showed up...and Jose thought she was wonder woman...fixin' to throw down with all of them. I stepped in the middle and did my best to usher Jose out of the club...as he made a point to remind the bouncers of their hourly wage and exact job qualifications. At one point I even tried screaming that I was a lawyer...that didn't work...I could have said I have three testicles and an Aunt named Sherman for all they cared. I managed to get the dred man and two of the three bouncers away from us...but one bouncer decided that he was going to get him a piece of Jose...and Jose was ready to give it right back. There's nothing like an irate Latino screaming in Spanish down a dark street at 2am at a bouncer that looks as if he just got out of the joint the day before. My PTSD kicked in real good...and I pretty much grabed Josie by her extensions and hauled her to the car. In the end...everyone got home safely...and no one ended up with any knife wounds or in jail. Good times.

I can't remember the last time I had so much fun.

Jose has been...truthfully...a blessing. Over the last few weeks when I've been in a funk, or homesick, or depressed or upset because someone at work didn't do something they were supposed to do even though they had two months to do it (let it go Brandon. Let it go)...Jose has been there...guilting me into going to the gym...finding new and creative ways to damage my self-esteem until I give into to whatever it is that he requires that I do that day to push myself out of my crazy isolationism and in general being a damn good friend...albeit one that I want to push into an electric fence now and again. Only for a second...just long enough to shock some sense into his crazy ass head. A love shock really. Really. Promise.

For ya'll that haven't had the honor of meeting Jose...he's one of the best community organizers I've ever come across...has one of the biggest hearts (wrapped in stank) that you'll ever find...and is pretty much brilliant. Gracias por todo mi companero. Now get back to work!

Tired and Inspired...

When I woke up this morning at 5:33 am my first thought was that I didn't know that I could have to pee that badly and yet not have wet myself. My second thought was...how did I piss off God in a former life that he would make me have to get up before the sun comes up on a Friday morning. Now, as I sit here in front of my computer...with my eyes burning so badly I feel as if I stuck my hand in a jar of habanero paste and then stuck them directly onto my pupils...I couldn't be happier that when I woke up this morning the birds got made at me for waking them up.

This morning, by 6:05 am, I was sitting in front of this computer typing my words in support of the young women from Young Women United (YWU) that were going to the capitol to testify in the House Education Committee in support of a bill that would urge the legislature to take an official position on supporting comprehensive sex education in the New Mexico Public Schools. The women of YWU have been working on this issue for months and this was the last stop before a vote by the full legislature...unfortunately...due to election year politics...the bill was tabled in committee and won't make it to the floor of the legislature this year. But sitting in the audience and listening to Kirby, Efe, Evikra, and the rest tell their stories and testify before this committee of dour faced Republicans (including one rep. who had so much hairspray in her boufant that I am sure she was violating several fire codes) and chicken-hearted Democrats...I couldn't have been more proud and more humbled to be a part of the youth movement as an adult ally. It's days like today that remind me very clearly that young people are out in the world making change. The girls may have walked away from the committee without a floor vote...but they also walked away with the support and admiration of the NM Secretary of Health and the NM Secretary of Education. The Secretary of Health has asked to meet with YWU to help them strategize how to push their bill forward in the next legislative session.

One would think that in today's world, with HIV rates climbing again, teen pregnancy rates being out of control (NM is #3 for teen pregnancy and #1 for teen STD infections) that a comprehensive sex education curriculum would be a no brainer. Well...no one ever said that the folks that make our laws have brains. Luckily, the Secretary of Health in New Mexico has the power to set health education standards and she is a proponent of comp. sex. ed. As a matter of fact, she is requiring comp. sex. ed for all students in grades 7-12. Rock on Madame Secretary.

Below is the text of the testimonial I gave today...but before I post that...let me say to the young women that allowed me to support them today...that you rock...you are kicking bootie...and I'm a better person for having known each of you.

Mr. Chairman, Representatives, Ladies and Gentleman thank you for allowing me a moment to speak with you today.

My name is Brandon Lacy Campos, and I am the Executive Director of YouthAction in Albuquerque. I am here to speak in favor of the memorial proposed by Young Women United and their allies.

In 2000, I worked in North Carolina where I led a statewide youth coalition with the aim of substantially revising or repealing North Carolina’s abstinence only until education law. That law, passed in 1995, required that all schools in the state teach abstinence only curriculum and also restricted any teacher from discussing issues that touched on sexuality and sexual orientation in the classroom. A survey done by the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill of high school teenagers in NC public schools in 1999 gauged their knowledge of abstinence behaviors. More than 60% of those high school students surveyed believed that oral and anal intercourse were abstinent behaviors. By the year 2000, North Carolina had seen a dramatic rise in teen and young adult HIV infection rates and to this day North Carolina has one of the highest teen pregnancy rates in the nation, and the HIV infection rates among people of color, specifically the African-American community in North Carolina have been compared to those of sub-Saharan African nations. Abstinence Only Education does not work.

Our young people need to be taught the value of waiting to engage in sexual intercourse until they are emotionally and spiritually ready to do so. But they also need to be taught how protect themselves and their lives when they do make the decision to have sex. Instituting regulations that promote an abstinence only lifestyle until marriage is promoting a curriculum of ignorance, guilt, and shame. It is our task to teach our children to celebrate themselves and their sexuality, to give them the tools they need to make smart, healthy life choices, and to promote accountability. Finger wagging and thunderous remonstrations against sex do nothing more than institute a puritanical ideal that leaves our children open to unwanted pregnancy and puts them at risk for sexually transmitted diseases. Furthermore, declaring that sex outside of marriage is wrong and undesirable is homophobic and heterosexist. It teaches young gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender that their partner choices can never be acceptable and their sexual behavior is undesirable because they have been and continue to be denied the legal right to enter into a state recognized contractual relationship with their partner of choice.

Abstinence only education is wrong for our young people. It is wrong for New Mexico, and it has no place in our community. Give young people the power to make smart, healthy, choices in their lives. Do not choose ignorance for them.

LIttle Me (Part Two)

I remember one day...when I was really little...perhaps in kindergarten...when my Mom told me it was a new year. I remember running to the couch and looking outside...I fully expected to see something brand new and fantastic. This is the first time I remember being disappointed. I can remember the sun hitting the snow so very brightly. And it all looked the same. Absolutely the same as the day before. I still get so sad when I think about that day. I don't know what it is about that day and that experience that makes me want to cry every time I think about it. And now I'm here...in a school that I love. I take Spanish classes. I just finished a week creating my own life size puppet named Flora Florida, and we put on a show for the entire school. I'm in a special violin class, and we call our teachers by their first names. I love school. I wish I could stay in school all day and all night. I wish I could sleep at school. I wish I never had to go home again. Why did Keith have to leave? I hated Kansas City, but I loved Keith. We had just started calling him Dad. Me and Jason. He was a good Dad. He didn't yell or spank us unless we did something wrong. He took us fishing and to the movies. He showed us how his car worked and let us play in Foxy Lady...his special car...every now and then. Even though we fought sometimes with the kids in our neighborhood...they were our friends. I was happy there. Mom and Keith almost never fought. They never woke me up yelling. My Mom was happy there. I was happy there. I remember one time...when we were visiting Daddy in Minnesota. He hurt me really badly and scared me by throwing me in the deep end of the swimming pool so that I would learn how to swim. When I cried he told me that I couldn't swim anymore for the rest of the summer. I called my Mom the night before to tell her how he hit me with the belt and it made my arm bleed, and how he spanked me because he called me outside and I didn't hear him. And when I got out of the pool that day. I saw her car. She and Keith drove all the way from Kansas City to get us. I was so happy. We got to go home early. And on the way home. They told us that they got married. I was so happy. Keith was the best. He never made my Mom cry.

-=-=-=-=-

I'm supposed to try and figure out what it is that my "inner child" is asking for every day this week (good lord I hate the whole cliche about the inner child...but hell...what do I know). And today...he's scared...and he wants to be loved...held...and hugged...a lot. I don't think there was much hugging and holding taking place at that time in my life. Man...it's a mind blower to think of how something that happened so long ago can continue to impact your life. Particularly a time period in your life that you have done your damndest to forget. I always wondered why I never blocked the memories out. You always see the adults on Montell crying because all of a sudden all these blocked memories pop up out of nowhere...but for the previous 20 years they'd lived in ignorant bliss...my brain just refused to cooperate on that score.

The Day the Server Died...

So I came in this morning all gung ho and ready to lay the smack down on a project for work that I have been unmotivated to work on for weeks. And wouldn't you know it...the dang server is down. I think my life operates 100% on Murphy's law. Really. They should change it to Brandon's Law. Or Brandon's First Law of Metaphysical Smack Downs. Yeah. That's it.

To give you an example of my morning so far...I got an email from my little sister Jasmine...who I am going to see next week for the first time in 12 years. Well...my dearest sister...in addition to including her address so that I might Mapquest directions from my house in Albuquerque to her house in Las Vegas...also included the information that she is now dating Too $hort. Oh yes...THAT Too $hort...the infamous gangsta rapper. Now...if she were dating LL Cool J...I might be able to hang with the age difference...and...because...I'd spend all my time trying to get a glimpse of LL buck ass naked.  But Too $hort...is another story all together. And...the fact that the man is turning 40 this year...and my little sister is turning 23 next week...well... Mr. $hort better recognize that the Lacy's are some country ass people from the southern mountains of West Virginia...and we've got guns. Lots and lots of guns...not those piddly little hand guns that folks be shooting each other on the street with...naw...we've got assault rifles...good for knocking airplanes out of the sky...and rednecks off the back of their pick up trucks. We ain't playin'. Plus...I'm from the Northside...don't let the bright smile and dashing good looks fool you...I went to high school at Patrick Henry...where give me liberty of give me death wasn't a quotation...it was a survival tactic. And I'm not afraid to cut a bitch in his sleep....first time my sister shows up in a video in a thong...it's on daddy...it's on.

Moving on. I'm also dealing with someone that I really care about and love...but who is acting like a juvenile with some severe mental illness and perhaps a little bit of retardation. Recently two of my closest friends went through a tough breakup. Well...one of them has decided that anyone that still talks to the other one is some sort of great and powerful traitor...and no longer worthy of her friendship. Vomitar I tell you. Vomitar. And the thing that really gets my goat is that my friend Coya is struggling with feeling as if she's done something to drive a wedge between her ex-girlfriend and her friends that once had a relationship with her ex-girlfriend. And that is BULLSHIZER! The J-Monster has made her own decisions about removing herself from the lives of people that truly care for her and love her. She is the one that wants folks to jump up and down and scream and shout and validate her feelings of victimhood. I ain't the one. I really ain't the one. I'm sad that it seems as if I've lost a good friend that I respect. But I won't kow-town to behavior that most of us got over back in the 7th grade.

And then there is my beloved Pookie. My Pookie hasn't heard from any of her summer internships yet. And my Pookie is feeling down. What my Pookie needs to know is that her worth, her brilliance, her determination, and her life are not defined by, validated through, or contigent on whether or not she gets some stupid ass internship during the summer. Pookie...you are the Shi'ite, and whether you spend your summer defending indigenous land rights or providing oral pleasure to the Baroness Thatcher...you are still the top dog up and coming lawyer in all of that pretend law school that you go to ;-). See...I make things all better.

In addition to all of those things...my phone at work refuses to let me check my voicemail, my board can't figure out whether or not we are having our eight hour board meeting/conference call on Saturday, and my laundry is currently at home organizing its own Al Qaeda training camp. And speaking of Muslims...I absolutely sympathize with the Muslim communities anger over the racist and anti-muslim cartoons that hit the newspapers in Denmark and the rest of the EU (sometimes Europeans are slow on the uptake...all that homogenization and in-breeding).

Having said that I have a message to the Muslims of the world that are getting themselves shot and burning down embassies...chill the fuck out. They are cartoons for Christ's sake. When I read stuff as I read today on the AP News Wire where Muslim leaders are saying they will defend their prophet with their voices and their blood...I want to run around beheading Muslim clerics on the internet. I guarantee you that any idiot that sheds his or her blood over these cartoons is going to find a HOT reception from Muhammed (swt) on the other side. He's going to slap them about the face, kick them in the ass, and then make them convert to Judaism...and  he's going to perform the bris himself.

As you can see...I've got some frustration and anger to let out today...and I'm letting folks have it. Who's next...I got nothing but time...and I'm all about kicking ass and calling names...you want to be next?

Little Me (Part One)....

(Please note...my therapist has required that I have a daily conversation with my inner 10 year old...so I'm going to do it via blog....I am going to write these blog entries...which will be grouped under the heading Little Me...as if I were that 10 to 12 year old...I might have a break down).

I am scared today. Really scared. I can hear Mom crying on the other side of the door. I can hear him choking her. It's dark in the hallway. And I don't know what to do. He's hurting her, and I can't move. I'm just sitting here and its dark. My little brother is asleep. I don't want him to wake up. I don't want him to hear this. I'm afraid that he's going to kill her. I'm afraid she's going to die. And I'm too little to do anything. I hate him. I hate him and the drugs he takes. I hate his pills. I hate that he won't let us play Nintendo. I hate that he hurts my Mom. I wish he would never have come back from the hospital. I wish he would go back to the hospital. I pray every night for God to make me a vampire. I promised him I would only hurt the bad people. I would hurt Dale. I would kill him for what he's doing to my Mom. He's stopped, and I can hear her crying. I'm going to kill everyone that's ever made her cry. Everyone that's ever hurt her. She thinks that we don't hear. She thinks that we don't know. But we know. I know. I always know. And I'm so angry. I'm angry with her for bringing them. I'm angry at them for hurting her. I'm angry at him for hurting her. I'm angry at him for hurting me. I hate him. And there's nothing I can do about it. I hate me because I can't stop him. All I can do is sit here in cry. Go back to my room and pretend I'm asleep. Until he leaves. Until I can see if she's ok. Until she can pretend that he didn't mean it...until she can get up the courage to take us away. Or leave us again...leave us with Daddy...and he's worse than Dale...he's the worst of all. He's the one I would kill first. If God would make me a vampire.  But I'm too little. And I can't do anything about any of it. So I'll pretend everything's ok. That my Daddy will come and take me away. He'll fly in on a jet with the rest of the airforce and drop bombs on all those people that make me cry that hurt my Mom that hurt my little brother. He's going to come and take me away to Japan and live with him and my little sisters.  He's going to come. I know he is. Some day. Some day. I never know when he's going to come. He calls and then I fly to see him. I never tell him about how they treat my Mom. I never tell him because I'm so happy when I'm there. I don't tell him because I'm too scared. I'm not supposed to know. No one is supposed to know. No one is supposed to see. They never know. They never know. He's left now. And I'm going to go and see Mom. She's crying still. I can see the marks on her neck. She pretends like nothing is wrong. She hugs me. And all I want to do is kill him. But I can't I'm too little. All I can do is cry.

Keep It Humble Day....

Lord God Jesus Buddha Krishna Shiva Aine Oshun! So...yesterday and this morning I was having fun with google...when I came across an on-line magazine for which I once upon a time wrote...from January 1996-July 1997 I had a regular column in the youth focused queerzine Oasis. Which can still be found online at www.oasismag.com. I'd basically forgotten about Oasis...and I was very excited to see that it is still going strong ten years after its inception. Go ahead ya'll.

As I was reading through some back issues of Oasis...I wondered how the heck I made it through the late 90s. I was dramatic. I mean...D-R-A-M-A-T-I-C. I know that comes as a shock to ya'll...but...really...I took dramatic writing to a whole other level...check it out: http://www.oasismag.com/backissues.html

I also came across a poem that I wrote sometime in 1995....hold on ya'll this one is a doozy:

Broken Tears

by

Brandon

Lacy

In silence they fall
tiny visions of prophecy
the essence of creation
carrying destiny like a light in their depths
they strike the earth
and shatter, like crystalline hope
sounding the music of creation
and silenced without thought

In heartbreak they are released
descended from Heaven
fallen angels of unutterable glory
carrying grace and sacredness in their wake
until they are greeted by the touch of fate
and sent forgotten
to oblivion, until the day of judgment

In birth they are joyous
twin streams of mirth and laughter
greeting mother and cleansing vanity
In death they are comforting
black River Styx
bringing sweet forgetfulness
soaked up with abandon
their subtle magic lost

Without voice they speak
without demand they listen
without hope they shield
without despair they guide
they are the human burden
broken tears.

These are definately the moments designed to truly keep one humble. When I read that poem I wondered when exactly in my life I had been a heart-broken sixteen year old girl dressed all in black with a veil over my face, fake tatoos, a noise ring, black nail polish, and purple eyeshadow sitting alone in my room writing fake suicide notes and listening to Depeche Mode. Because...basically...anyone reading that poem without a name attached would probably wonder who the poor little suburban girl was that didn't get the SUV she wanted for her sixteenth birthday and instead got a Geo Metro. When I read through some of the articles I'd written on Oasis Magizine...I was also frightened by how little some things had changed...I know that I know more about who I am and what I want from the world now at 28 then I did then at 18....but ooooooooooowwweeeeeeee.....I'm having the same man problems now that I was having ten years ago. Some things just never ever change.

Now that I have truly embarassed myself publicly. I am going to go and drown myself in the toilet bowl. Then I'm going to call my Mom and ask her why I didn't get that SUV back when I was 16.

On The Edge Of Something New...

Throughout the course of my life there have been moments when I have stepped outside of the world...when everything is preternaturally quiet...and just for a few seconds...the entire universe seems to be holding its breath...or maybe deeply inhaling...I learned to notice these moments a long time ago...and they've always meant big big big change for me. I've never known what the change will be...and sometimes not even realized the change until years later...but the world has been inhaling all damn day long...and I'm afraid that when it exhales...I am going to be blown to the other side of the world.

It's a very strange feeling...the light is different...sounds seem to come from someplace far away...even when it may just be voices down the hall. It's as if the universe is waiting for me to make a choice...and once I do...it then speeds up...catching up with me...and hurtles me down the new path that I've chosen for myself. It's the feeling of standing at a crossroads...not sure which road leads where...and what's more...you aren't quite sure the decision that you are faced with...only that once its been made...the ride operator yells for you to keep your arms and legs inside the machine at all times...and then let's go of the brake.

The entire world seems to be standing at a cross roads...again...and again...and I'm not sure that the world has been making the right choices. I'm not sure I've been making the right choices. But in the end...who is judging those choices? I end up in a philosophical quandry. I believe that everything in life happens for a reason. Cliche right? But I believe it. I also believe we have free will to make our own choices. I don't believe our choices happen in a vacuum. I believe everything from the most minute life experiences to physical, spiritual, sexual, and mental trauma inform, shape, and push our choices one way or another. Our fears based on those life events play a big role in the choices we make...and our decisions to take those fears on...or not to take them on...also influence which fork in the road we go down. Very few of us have the perspective, opportunity, or privilege to evaluate which is the road less traveled, if that road will take us where we want to go, and if we've had enough vaccinations to get us through what might be an entire jungle full of new life experiences and exotic diseases.

Right now I'm in one of those life places where lots of new things are coming my way...lots of old things are being brought to my attention with new ways of understanding...and there are choices to be made that if I don't actively make them...will be made by default. And I've never been one to take the default option. I take that back. I'm the type of person that likes to believe that he doesn't take the default option...but I've spent quite a bit of my life going with the flow or when the flow has excluded me for whatever reason...trying my damndest to get into the flow...regardless if it is a place that I really want to be or should even be trying to get into. The mainstream is attractive because we are social creatures, and we want to belong. We want to belong so badly that we will knowingly place ourselves in a context that is alien to our most deeply held beliefs...that will drive us crazy and guarantee our unhappiness all because we are afraid of being alone, being outcast, and being outside.  There's that fear again. It's not just regular fear...the fear based on experience...you get burned by a fire and therefore avoid it because you know it is hot...but that irrational fear that is so much more powerful because it has no limitations defined by experience. It is shapeless...or its shape is so expansive that it overrides our mortal senses. If we could just have the courage to step into it...we'd find that most of its largeness is nothing but air.

I'm not sure what decision I have to make. I'm not sure I'll know when I make it. And I'm sure as heck not sure where the road I choose will take me. But there is saying that I find quite useful...if you always do what you've always done then you'll always get what you've always gotten. So if you want something new...then do something different. That's the scariest prospect of them all.

ADD or just Bored?

So a couple of weeks ago I went to my new psychiatrists office. This place was a trip. I couldn't tell which was older...my psychiatrist or the wood paneling in her office. And when she whipped out her Blackberry...I almost fainted. I though for sure at best she would have an Apple IIe or maybe a Commodore 64...but the old bird wasn't to be defined or limited by my stereotypes.

Right away we got down to the business of head shrinking. She asked me a number of questions dealing with my family structure, growing up, and my currently mental health concerns. The woman should have had a court reporter on staff as I'm sure she filled up about  18 pages of her legal size pad. As I told her about the plethora of issues that brought me to her...including a commandment from my hard as nails therapist...I could see the grandmother in the woman. I was sure that in just a moment she would rush out of the office and come back in with some freshly baked chocolate cookies and a glass of warm cider. Instead she just shook her head and basically offered me anything my heart desired from the pharmacy of my choice. 

I keep up with my various mental health diagnosis. They've stayed pretty stable (hehehe...I said stable) over the last year...especially after my week long stay in the nut house when I was finally diagnosed correctly for the first time. But I got to add a new one to the list this last week. Mild Attention Deficit Disorder. I'll be right back I saw something shiny...just kidding just kidding.  Now...I remember in high school not paying attention very much in class...because I thought class was boring and most of my classmates were stupid...and I'd already read that damn book in French so I was not about to listen to the lower life forms in my French 2 class march through it sounding like a bunch of hillbillies that just got hooked-on-phonics. (Sorry...a  little of my nerd bitterness came out there...high school was tough). But...some of that inability to pay attention also has existed in my work life...for example...I can't spend more than 30-45 minutes at a time doing anything before I have to get up and go and see what everyone else within a one block radius is doing. My psychiatrist wrote off my high school inattention as a sign of intelligence (why didn't I think of that?) but she said that my lack of focus at work is probably a sign of something much deeper.

I offered up that perhaps it was that after playing babysitter for months on end I was just fed up. She said that since I'd been having these issues since I was 15 that perhaps there was another answer. I don't know why. My answer was perfectly reasonable. So...off she sent me to another nut doctor who also did a little evaluation...the conclusion...mild ADD. The solution...put me on a stimulant. Like thousands of kids in America that just wouldn't sit still in class...I've been put on ritalin. Now...ritalin wasn't big when I was growing up. As a matter of fact, I didn't hear about it until college when about half the campus was snorting the stuff in order to stay up and cram for finals (not me...I always said if they would just put illegal drugs into pill bottles I would never have had a problem). But now...twice a day...I take these itsy bitsy little extended release pills. I don't quite know what...if anything they doing for me. The first couple days I took the damn things I shook like a crack whore in rehab...but what's new. Every pysch med I've ever taken has made my body act like I have a neurological disorder (thanks...don't have one those...yet). I have to try these things out until 2/15 when Dr. S and I are going to have another sit down and evaluate my reaction to the little buggers. That and we are going to decide on a sleeping medecine. I felt like a little kid at Christmas when she came into her office with a plastic bag and starting dumping samples of just about every kind of sleeping durg I've ever heard of into it. Trial and error and experimentation she said. The last time I tried that I tried and errorer and tried and tried and experimented and tried and tried and tried. And tried. tried.  Get the picture?

But so far so good. I can't tell if I am focusing any better...because with an office full of some of the most social people between the Rockies and the Mississippi its rare that I have more than 30 minutes uninterrupted to myself. But, although Dr. S may be older than Eve...she seems to know what she's doing. I think. So I'll trust her for now. But if you see me handing out little green pills to the kids at the University of New Mexico in May...call Dr. S. Quick.