Fuck. Last night sucked, I was reflecting again. Remind me not to do that, it just fucks with my emotions and makes me want to cry. I should get tattoos, that would be an acceptable form of self-harm that’s artistic and might satisfy my craving for those seasons when I’m being fucking reflective. It puts me in a shitty state, and while I looked back at the poem I wrote and it’s not “bad,” by my own standards, it should have a trigger warning on it, and it’s not really anything I’d call “good.”
I figured it’s the first, and I should adjust my attitude by NOT self-reflecting. And then I figured I should blog to relax, so if you’re reading this, first, I’m deeply sorry, and second, thank you. And alliterating my A’s seemed like a good idea too.
I’m still surfing and have moved on to the awesome solo sax and cool intro to “Urgent” by Foreigner, but when I started surfing…
I started surfing music and fell on something. I watched a documentary about Stuart Goddard, whom I have appreciated since my mid-teens. He’s been dealing with bipolar disorder since his childhood. I only remember my first major depressive episode when I was maybe 15. But there were probably milder depressive episodes earlier. Tell me again, do traumatic experiences have a bearing on the beginnings of bipolar, or in my case cyclothymia? to continue my alliterative trend, I sure as shit had my share of traumas.
You probably know about Stuart. Stuart has the alias Adam Ant.
He’s fucking awesome. He’s fucking BADASS! I’m straight as an arrow, but that man is BEAUTIFUL. And he survives. This gives me hope.
I love everything about him. The makeup. The clothes. The emotional swings. The music. I want to write songs, buy quirky clothes that suit me, and front a nouveau punk band.
Just call me “Mister Charming Snake.”