Friday, March 30, 2012

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 4 Issue 11

In his debut memoir, Thompson recounts his efforts to deal with his bipolar disorder as he faced unpredictable periods of elation and depression. In blog like entries organized according to mood—depressed, normal and elevated—Thompson presents a nonlinear depiction of his struggle with bipolar disorder. The author takes readers through his internship, college years and promising start working for AT&T, followed by his difficulties holding onto jobs, inability to get health insurance, hospitalizations and dating life. Each entry ends with a transcript of a session between the author and Dr. John-Paul Heathrow, or “JP,” a voice that the author assumes as a psychiatrist. Thompson writes in an easy,jocular tone, but the nonlinear structure makes the chronology of his disease and the problems it causes hard to follow. Not all readers will find it easy to understand the author’s use of slang, and some may find the frequent off-color language gratuitous. However, many will welcome JP’s informative “handout,” in addition to an overview of bipolar disorder and his sensible advice on navigating the world of work, such as possibly asking for a later starting time “so any sedative side effects [will] have worn off.” Occasionally, Thompson abandons his flippant tone; it’s then that readers can feel his sadness at the damage his illness has caused: “I was seeing old friends and seeing how they were taking the next steps in their lives. Getting married...starting a family and having their careers take off.” Meanwhile, he was “starting over from scratch because [he] had failed.” Some readers may wish there were more such passages with simply expressed feelings.
A frank account of a struggle with a devastating illness, although the format and choice of language may be off-putting to some readers.

So this was my first “terrible” review for my book and I wasn’t a happy camper the first few times I read it (I also had to look up a couple words, which probably doesn’t help my case). Actually I was pretty pissed those first few times I read it but had the self control to limit my smart-assness (some more of that slang for ya reviewer) when I responded to this review site (I’m not mentioning names but I will say it was one of the corporate big boys, shocker corporate America is screwing me again) when they asked if I’d like the review posted:

No, I would not like the review to be posted. And here’s some advice; the next time a writer submits a humorous memoir I recommend you assign it to a reviewer who has a sense of humor.

I never heard back from them. As similar to just about everything else in my life that I get frustrated and irritated with once I slept on it and actually thought about it I calmed down. I was able to realize that I wrote the book for a particular audience in mind and that’s others who have BMD. What do I care if some anonymous middle aged single cat lover doesn’t like my book; that should actually be a compliment (a rather expensive damn compliment but nonetheless a compliment). The reviewer didn’t get it and at first I was kind of pissed about that but now I know it’s a good thing.

If Somewhere Over the Rainbow was the linear, serious, sad, somber (alliteration is fun) on-color language (go fuck yourself bitch I lived through Hell…maybe I’m still a little pissed) and simply expressed feelings memoir they wanted it to be it would have been just another example of a basic, generic, bland, generalized and sugar coated account of BMD. Thank God it’s not, that’s one of the main reasons I wrote it that way, so it was different, that it was something no one had ever seen before, something that my generation of “crazies” could relate to.

So in hindsight that review actually made me feel pretty good about my book, maybe even better than the five star ones in a way. That’s because just like this BMD I feel like I’ve taken something “terrible” and made it all mine.

Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!

Coming Correct,

Friday, March 23, 2012

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 4 Issue 10

And that was the second time I got crabs…

Nah I kid, I kid. But Splashgate was the first of the two times that year that I almost got kicked off the team before the first outdoor track meet (some of us are just born with leadership skills). So the very long winded point I was getting to is that spring is here and for the first time in four years I don’t feel like I have to look over my shoulder for the mania. It makes me so happy I wanna lick faces.

That probably needs some clarification as well, see I went through a phase in my twenties when I deemed it necessary to lick attractive young ladies faces while out at the bars. I really wish I could go into more detail about this phase of my life but I simply have no explanation. It would just seem whenever I’d get a few adult cocktails in my system instead of hitting on or even merely talking to the hotties at the bar I would decide it was a better idea to lick the side of their face (to accompany those leadership skills is my charm). I had forgotten about my face licking days until a victim reminded me with the greatest Facebook birthday message on my wall last week:

Sex (that’s just a nickname people): Oh shooooot happy bday u famous authorrrr, keep it soo real today and lick tons of faces

It has been a minute since I’ve licked faces and I think I’ve just been holding back and waiting for the right occasion to bring it back. It’s been four years since my first episode back in Denver and after thinking about it for another minute it occurred to me that’s also when my suave ladies’ man approach of licking faces was retired. I mean I understand why this trademark move of mine went into storage as I was concentrating on the whole psychosis thing. But that’s no excuse (actually it’s a damn good excuse) the single ladies of the world deserve the awkwardness and off-putting experience of face licking.

I’m still getting used to not having to worry about waking up every morning with some problem with my mania; for instance let’s say the world is burning up but everything smells like chocolate chip cookies (yeah hallucinations also include smell) but I will say somehow it smelled delightful yet terrifying. The lithium is working from the evidence that I’m not writing this from my third psych ward and I actually may be able to lower my dosage soon. It would make me feel a little bit better about myself if I wasn’t on the high end of dosage (it’s one thing to take crazy pills but whole other to have to take the highest dosage that your body can sustain without basically killing yourself) so bottom line I’m glad I can fall asleep at night without worrying about waking up in my third episode (I hope, I don’t want to jinx it, Karma don’t screw me now).

So to recap:

Spring+Splashgate+Leadership+Charm+Birthday+lithium=Face licking (get excited ladies).

Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!

Coming Correct,

Friday, March 16, 2012

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 4 Issue 9

It seems that spring has come a little early this year and I’m for one not going to sit around and bitch about it, that’s because Ohio winters are not my favorite thing in the world (they can seem like the apocalypse for me sometimes). With the warm weather approaching there are tons of things one can get excited about. Just for example I now get to creepily stare through my shades at legs, tan legs, defined tan legs, and long defined tan legs (I hope I didn’t leave anything out). There are a number of ways one can tell when spring has arrived and while each one is effective in their own right I’d like to talk about how I used to know spring was here in college.

After my collegiate athletic career the marking of spring was more than likely told by day drinking to a power hour mix outside on our buddies front porch (I bet you thought I was going to say flowers start blooming didn’t you…wow you really don’t know me). But during my time as a Witt athlete (Tiger Up bitches) I knew spring was just around the corner when our pool workouts for track would start to wind down. Now imagine fifty collegiate coeds all in a pool together “working out” and you can imagine the kind of productivity our team got in the water (2002 NCAC Outdoor Track Champs though haters).

Contrary to other winter pool workouts when we were allotted a few minutes at the end of practice to basically dick off in the water the last pool workout of the winter we always got a lot more time to enjoy aquatic activities. Well the sprinters and middle distance did, the distance runners still had a complete workout (until I decided to get on the high dive). To set the scene our seventy-something distance coach was standing beside the deep end “coaching” the distance runners with his back to the pool and an open target when I told my buddies:

“Watch this; I’m going to drench (Radio Edit).”

I nonchalantly exit the pool and make my way up the ladder to the top of the high dive. I line up my target who is actually still coaching at the time, take a deep breath and explode off the end of the board. Any experienced splasher will know that a solid approach to drenching someone is the slow motion running in the air as you approach the water while never taking your eyes off the target. A number of the distance runners see me coming and starting running and diving into the pool but (Radio Edit) is completely oblivious to my attack. I hit the water perfect, reverse sleeper it and come up to (Radio Edit) dripping wet and cursing me as he walked out of the pool. It took everything I had not to laugh.

I didn’t think the whole splashgate was a big deal until the next day when I got called into my coach’s office with (Radio Edit) and my hurdles coach. I didn’t even get all the way into the room before (Radio Edit) starts ripping my ass about how he was wet yesterday all the way down to his underwear and how his wife didn’t understand and basically somehow it seems I almost killed the man. For the next half hour or so I got my ass ripped by everyone in the room and literally thought I was going to get kicked off the team (I mean for shit’s sake it’s Div III track they don’t even have cuts).

Somehow I escaped with only a verbal lashing from all the coaches and was feeling pretty dumb about the whole thing when my hurdles coach grabbed me in the hallway as I left the meeting and said:

“DT; don’t you ever do that shit again. But, that was some pretty funny shit!”


Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!

Coming Correct,

Friday, March 2, 2012

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 4 Issue 8

The last time I went to Vegas everything started out great, the first night on the strip was off the hook (to be honest with you I don’t really remember the first night at all but I’m sure dance offs were involved). The only problem about that first night was that we woke up all accounted for except for one key member of our entourage; the bachelor. We started freaking out because no one could remember what happened the night before and our buddy was missing in Vegas with no phone, no wallet, and little hope.

We obviously started rushing around the Strip retracing our steps trying to find our buddy. I was responsible for running cover with his fiancĂ© so I made up so bullshit excuse that no one was allowed to talk to their own significant other (lame I know but it worked). To make a long story short we ended up finding a tiger and a baby, finding out that our dentist friend married a stripper with his grandmother’s holocaust ring, fought a naked Asian man, and finally found our buddy just in time to make a daring hand off speeding down the highway to get our tuxedos in order to save his wedding…Vegas right?

OK you got me, that’s actually the plot to “The Hangover” but I am heading to Vegas next week. Last time I was there I really didn’t go to a show, see a stripper, do any drugs, gamble, or hook up so I could of basically just gone to King’s Island (they serve beer there too). This time I’m not sure what I’ll get into but I know it won’t be a hooker, I heard they make you wear a condom and if I’m paying it for it I want a raw dog experience if you know what I’m saying (haha I kid I kid). I am going to bet on basketball a lot though.

The race is in Vegas (sorry that’s the NASCAR race, I’m sure there’s a lot of F1 fans out there reading this so I wanted to clarify) next weekend and I think I’m going to maybe try and check it out (somehow). I don’t have tickets and buying them doesn’t sound really fun so I gotta figure something out. When I was young Stubby would take us to watch my uncle be the jackman (and Bobby Bowshier actually race the car I guess) in Xenia for ARCA races and it was pretty easy to sneak in Kil-Kare. That’s because kids got in free and Stubby took full advantage by having us carry in his Margarita (hidden in a McDonald’s cup because who’s going to suspect that, or probably even care I mean it’s Kil-Kare). What an experience let me tell you; sneaking your dad’s alcohol into an ARCA race where the first person you see is a bare-footed woman walk into the port-a-john (ahh childhood memories).

Well it’s March and it’s now been over two years since my last manic episode in The Nasty. I haven’t tried to talk or even think about it all that much. I don’t think I realized just how nervous I was about this winter. If the lithium didn’t work and my chronic manic episodes continued on their two year cycle it would have meant starting all over again; and losing two more years. But lucky for me my levels are good, I’m feeling good, and it appears that the lithium may be just what the doctor ordered (or prescribed; que-evs).

I must admit I am feeling more than a bit of relief knowing that I have a good chance of being healthy for some time and the Vegas trip is a bit of a celebration (I don’t want to jinx it so I’m going to stop talking about). I have one last thing to say though in regards to my celebration next week; Cuzin Jen can you sneak me into the race in Vegas next weekend? I’ll bring the Margaritas.

Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!

Coming Correct,