  Okie, there were technical difficulties with posting on the blog...but I did save the entry. It was supposed to be posted last week. F'n hell. I kick off around three am, and here I am, tired as the proverbial dog, but can i sleep? Noooooooo. Instead, I wake up, ramble to kurt about "They Might Be Giants" and boot him off the computer so I can listen to geeky music from my misspent youth. And he didn't even have the courtesy to stay awake for my stroll down memory lane. I figure I'll take the CD to work, the girls simply must hear the song "Dead" (It's either I'm dead and I haven't done anything that I want/ Or, I'm still alive, and there's nothing I want to do...) Not to mention the sheer artwork of "Istanbul", and "Someone Keeps Moving My Chair". I keep dreaming about horses underwater. Last night, I had this monolithic, truly epic dream about an escaped princess who went nuts and killed her would be killers; later on the princess turned into the Slayer, and then my character from Morrowind, but mostly, I remember watching the dream like a movie, and then getting directly involved when the main characters left their horse to drown. I had to get in there, and save the horse. Those bastards - the horse carried two of them to an island in the ocean, to exhaustion, and they didn't even try to get it on land.
(For some reason, there were no beaches on this island. ) Pol is coming down sunday with the Pikey, and shelby the frisbee-catching wonder dog. Great dog, a little daft, nothing like The Lucas. For example, she's into playing and wrastling, Lucas is into basking, and receiving adoration. I think it will be great to have two dogs in the house again, even if it is just for a few days.
Oh holy hell, sleep would be awesome right now. I hate the exhausted feeling, especially when coupled with the ziiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip feeling of my brain, the brain who clearly wants to leap out of my head, and go for a walk. I think my brain and body will have to at least try a trial seperation. Prozac Nation let me know there is at least one person who has the same symptoms (well, of course, some are different), same worries, and same general outlook on that whole stinkass depression thing. For example, i was told by the plethora of doctors i saw that there was NO WAY I could have exhibited atypical depression (major) symptoms at the tender age of 8. You're supposed to manifest these symtoms around the ages of 19-24. There is at least one other person who exhibited these same symptoms at 11.
It is quite possibly twisted and sad, but I have gleaned a fair amount of comfort from that, as well as the fact that Elizabeth Wurtzel was born in 1967, has a more severe case than I do, and, she's still alive. Ok that last bit not so twisted, but the first, perhaps a bit. That's what I need, i think, to know people survive this damn thing, lots of people do give it the recognition as an illness, not just some personal defect. That's the big thing for me, seems like it always has been. I've been seeking legitimacy for this disease, and no matter how much I may get, there are still people who think I can just snap out of my 'mood', haul myself up by my bootstraps, and stop being so *weird* for Pete's sake.
And then, I think, they're right, so many people have it so much worse than i do, why am I such a maladjusted fuck? Maladjusted Fuck. Good name for a band, really. It's 7.34am. No haikus today. Please feel free to write your own, and post them. Also, no word as to who is the bigger dork/nerd/geek, so come on, cast your votes now. 
