Schrödinger's Cheshire
I cannot stop smiling lately. My frustration level hasn't decreased, and yet, I walk down the street grinning like a madman. At work, the more asinine the customer, the greater my mirth. I think I've even freaked some people out by simply laughing out loud for no apparent reason.
Perhaps I'm still high from the holidays at Disney World. It could be the new year, but it doesn't usually affect me like this. Maybe it's the handful of multi-vitamins a co-worker gave me: paroxetine, I think it's called. It's also possible I'm simply insane.
Wouldn't that be great?! Crazy people get all the good shit. The fun meds, the stylin' straitjackets and bathrobes, and best of all, the complete lack of responsibility. Seriously, these folks get away with murder... actual murder! They do whatever they want, blame it on their addled mind, and then get pumped so full of drugs, they don't have to cope with guilt. Now that's the real Catholic heaven.
This smiling thing isn't new so much as a regression to an earlier state of being. Before becoming embittered by my roaring twenties, I was quite benign. Boring and bland at best, but always blissfully beaming through my blasé boyhood. Shit happens, eh?
Is this happiness or something else I'm feeling? Does it actually exist, or have I simply convinced myself it exists? What is its source? Assuming it can be prolonged, how do I sustain it?
Regardless, I've missed this feeling. I like it.
Jt
PS-- The whole paroxetine thing was just a joke of course. The OCD remains unmedicated, but I did talk to a co-worker about it. I'm fairly certain it's the source of my chronic tardiness, and she suggested checking out the free therapy offered by Howard Brown. I'm considering it, but apparently they expect you to be on time for the appointments.
Perhaps I'm still high from the holidays at Disney World. It could be the new year, but it doesn't usually affect me like this. Maybe it's the handful of multi-vitamins a co-worker gave me: paroxetine, I think it's called. It's also possible I'm simply insane.
Wouldn't that be great?! Crazy people get all the good shit. The fun meds, the stylin' straitjackets and bathrobes, and best of all, the complete lack of responsibility. Seriously, these folks get away with murder... actual murder! They do whatever they want, blame it on their addled mind, and then get pumped so full of drugs, they don't have to cope with guilt. Now that's the real Catholic heaven.
This smiling thing isn't new so much as a regression to an earlier state of being. Before becoming embittered by my roaring twenties, I was quite benign. Boring and bland at best, but always blissfully beaming through my blasé boyhood. Shit happens, eh?
Is this happiness or something else I'm feeling? Does it actually exist, or have I simply convinced myself it exists? What is its source? Assuming it can be prolonged, how do I sustain it?
Regardless, I've missed this feeling. I like it.
Jt
PS-- The whole paroxetine thing was just a joke of course. The OCD remains unmedicated, but I did talk to a co-worker about it. I'm fairly certain it's the source of my chronic tardiness, and she suggested checking out the free therapy offered by Howard Brown. I'm considering it, but apparently they expect you to be on time for the appointments.