A happy Valentine's Day to you.

(You should probably check out www.picturesforsadchildren.com, because it is awesome.)

Paging Dr. Jekyll...

I feel split in two.

I walk hand in hand with this chemical burning away in my brain, and when I do I am Captain Sunshine. The inevitable hero - victory at hand and underfoot. I am the eternal optimist, the unning man who knows no surrender. I am your sunken winter sun shedding just enough light over the plains to set the sky on fire. I am a mind open to all, absorbing information wherever it can be found. I am a learning machine. I am Dr. Jekyll woking tirelessly to fill the empty spaces in my mind, to fix the faults I carry with me.

And when this chemical leaves me I am the quintessential pessimist. I am Count Craptastic. I am the cynic nitpicking everycorner of my own existence. I am a mind turned inward, criticizing every empty space Dr. Jekyll has been working to fill. I am Mr. Hyde, working to dismantle hope. I am a monster breeding. I am your lurking lunar nightmare. Eclipse. Backwards. I am a complete lack of energy and hope - lonely, miserable, unhappy because I can't function. I can't take what the universe gives me and turn it into something positive because I don't know how.

I speak, of course, of Adderall. I have ADD, which you likely know if you know me. I have found that there is a definite line between who I am with this help and who I am without, and I feel it is imperative to stitch the tear between these two halves.

So, yeah - I have always had a little resentment towards the fact that I can't function like others can without medication. And today, I am Captain Sunshine again, and that tear doesn't seem to bother me because I'm riding on the side that I like, the side that lays open like a book waiting for the world to smear its ink across my pages.

There is, however, one regret that pesters me no matter who I seem to be.

I cannot seem to be inspired and create at the same time anymore - at least, not how I used to be. Perhaps a lack of a definite source of sorrow bars my creative side. The words are there, the notes, the brushstrokes, what have you - whether I am writing or playing, it seems that I can't interpret and create at the same time. I don't know if this even makes sense, but - it is a very rare occasion as of late for me to be able to take what I am seeing and stylize it into something better - I can't look out my window and turn what I see into words. I can't read music on a page and make it my own - or, to be honest, I can do these things, but they take an immense amount of energy and I am unsure as to why. Maybe I'm just readapting to this balance.

Perhaps it is a process of relearning. I don't know. Maybe I just have to learn how to stitch myself together again.

On a lighter note:

Because it makes me smile every time. :D

OH MY LORD.

Do you ever have one of those days where you just want to kill yourself?

Today is one of those days. If you don't care for a rant you might just feel like skipping this one.

First, what is likely the only pharmacy in this world that doesn't take insurance? The only one retarded enough to serve ASU, of course. Doesn't take ANY kind of insurance, so I have to go waste a lunch hour tomorrow walking to fucking Safeway to get my goddamn prescription filled (which, by the way, took an immense and disgusting amount of effort - and I didn't even get the one I really need, because apparently in order to be a university employee you have to have an IQ in the single digits). Thanks for not telling me about that before you filled the fucking prescription, asshole.

I've been back and forth to student health services literally five times in the past week. And rather than just give me the medication I've been using without a problem for years, they demand bloodwork, mental screening and an EKG before they'll give it to me. I understand it's a controlled substance, but for the love of God, I've been cleared by a fucking doctor already, and at least he had the skill to open up his own damn practice (rather than waste his life making college students jump through hoops). AGH.

And so I get back to my dorm - missed lunch today just trying to get this prescription, mind you - and figure I'll do some laundry.

But, no, God forbid something as simple as that should go without a hitch. I check the machines, three are already running, so I figure there's no issues with the stupid thing, right?

Wrong. I put in my clothes, put the soap on, turn around to use the panel thing on the wall to pay for my laundry and I see the words "LAUNDRY CLOSED".

...wait. What? Laundry closed? Not fucking out of order, all the machines work, because two of them are on and running right behind me. When one breaks, you can still pay to use it (because everything in this place works so perfectly, right?). No. The machine decided to turn itself off for no reason and I am stuck with no clean clothes.

Needless to say, I hate this place more than usual today.