but i digress.
not that i was talking about anything to begin with.
but still.
i'm feeling some pressure to perform, here. i went back and was reading a bunch of my archives yesterday, and was rudely reminded of the fact that i *used* to be a better writer... like i used to actually have interesting things to say.. like i used to be cool.fuck i think i'm off my own bandwagon (i've been poaching liberally from the jeff o'neill show today. and i've spelled it differently both times in this post.. i'm such a badass!)
you know, there's a long established link between creativity and mental health - that is, it takes a certain amount of nuts to produce good art. i wonder if the meds aren't just hiding my crazy, they are also making it so i can't write well anymore. i mean, i'm still fucked up - if i were to go cold turkey i'm sure i'd self destruct in a glorious blaze of drinking and drugs and sex that would put frickin britney lohan to shame - but maybe i won't be so f'in normal.
ah i dunno - it's probably not worth it. certain aspects of normality have their attractions (boyfriend, apartment, not being on a rollercoaster of frickin' emotion and drama all the time). might be an interesting experiment, if i weren't thousands of miles away from free healthcare, but not so much here.
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