Wednesday, March 30, 2005

How do you Google a song lyric when it looks like this:
ho som-ma do-da cmon a hey-a

Then, how do you look sane as you walk downtown singing that to yourself?

How can you look a "psychotherapist" in the eye and not laugh as she asks you:
Is the lamp talking to you?

How do you take the metro holding a ghettoblaster and not cry out:
Wheres muh b-girlz at niggah?!

After my walk and after my meeting with my "therapist" I went to the Concordia residence in an attempt to feel less crazy. That decision, in and of itself, should be enough evidence that I do need professional help. Hey, at least I scored a dexedrine tablet from that little venture. I sure as hell will need the babyspeed to compile my self-revelatory performance that must be presented to a bunch of near strangers tomorrow afternoon.

At least my "therapist", who I have named Penny the Cow, gave me some freudian bullshit to use in my performance. It will consist of me having a boxing match with an imaginary opponent who spews out irrelevant proverbs and theories about my father. I truly am destined to be a crazy performance artist found on the corner peeling beets while screaming bloody murder at passerbys.

Folks, I have just given true meaning to the title of my blog... I really do try to plead sanity in the midst of my chaotic mess that has become my Life.

No comments: