monday afternoon dysregulation
Monday 4 April 2005 | I like a cookie
So I’ve just taken the Romanoffs, half a tab, for N. fears my outburst last night was the result of ceasing Romanoffs without medical supervision (but afterward I’m a genius! or anyway the voices in my head tells me I is) (house elves is not supposed to have fun, Harry Potter) or perhaps more to the point, without telling him. He was Displeased. And I’m taking them this early (5:58 as I type this) so I won’t have restless legs when I’m asleep tonight, only now, when it doesn’t matter. We sat for two and a half hours this morning in the concrete-block warrens of Poor People Behavioral Health with N. growing more and more frustrated as no one would see me. I muttered that we should leave as he ignored me and accosted the receptionist with a litany of my symptoms about which she could of course do nothing. And like the dog who hears “blah blah blah blah GINGER blah blah blah” all I hear when he gets that angry, is “I’m scared and I love you and I want you to have help and they’re not helping.” And I just want to put a hand wearily on his forearm and say yes, I know, I know, darling.
This half a tab has made me sedated to the point where typing this is an heroic epic thing, or anyway these little letters with keys on ‘em sure are hard to push down. But I’m afraid to doze because of the dreaded tardive akathisia.
“On a clear night, you can hear Joni up in the canyons knitting a shawl.” (Sandra Bernhard)
Coming across this Bernhard joke made me think of and seek out the Joni Mitchell guitar tablature database, started by these two guys, Howard Wright and Harlan Thompson, bless their hearts, whose tab I used to get off FTP/Telnet sites using Netscape Navigator, in 1995—my first year at Cambridge when I, bewildered Yank amidst the alien corn, discovered the Internet. And what would the Internet even be for, if not to find out how to play these complicated tapestries of songs, each in its own impossibly chromatic tuning and turning!? I taught myself to play the entirety of her devastatingly unequalled 1971 album Blue the summer and fall before I went to England, half on piano and half on guitar, the way she recorded it; and having that under my belt has rewarded me deeply for all the years since then. I miss having a piano around on which to brood over “The Last Time I Saw Richard.”
post your glowing encomium (or bitter philippic) »
Follow this heated, lively discussion through its very own feed; also, you can pingback or trackback from your own doubtlessly much more interesting site.
