The Luck of the Lancasters

My family is terrifyingly lucky. We always seem to miss disasters by sometimes a few minutes, others by a few days. 2 weeks before 9/11 we took a trip into New York city to see the sights. I believe we went to Ellis Isle, we rode speed boats around the Statue of Liberty, we went up to her crown, and we went to the top of the Twin Towers.

I was only in 2nd grade at the time so I didn't realize exactly what happened, what 9/11 really meant, and how lucky we were. I also didn't realize how close we were time wise to 9/11. For a few years, I thought that we had gone earlier in the summer. It was our last family thing before school started up again.

I remember being up on the roof of that tower. I remember one of the top floors had a touristy map of the city on the floor and I remember bending over to touch the colors. I remember how fast the elevator took us up.

It's chilling, almost haunting. To think that even though school had started, how many kids were in the city, in the towers on that day, seeing what we saw, and having that be their last memory. How many kids lost parents, grandparents, even siblings on that day and in events that occurred in the following years.

It's haunting to think of all of those who were luckier than we were and missed being in the disaster by a few minutes, or a forgotten purse. Of all those people in the city who were the luckiest who missed the injuries but who were close enough to hear the planes and towers crashing, to see the shards or smoke, to feel the ground shake from that much material crashing to the ground.

Of the lucky ones within the disaster, who were able to take cover from the raining debris, of those who were pulled from the tower rubble alive.

But those people, I wonder how lucky they feel. they were given their lives back but at what price? how much mental trauma do they have to deal with? Could they live normal lives after physically healing?

There are times I say to myself, we are lucky, but then list off as I have done above and think, that doesn't count as being lucky since I survived the day in the comfort of my own home knowing that my family is safe.

But we were lucky. We weren't there. 2 weeks. That counts as luck.

My family is terrifyingly lucky.

ISDotG: Stuck on Repeat

Something that most people don't understand, is that the brain has a mind of it's own. Yes, I know, that doesn't make much sense but keep it in mind.

There are times when my brain feels like it is its job to tear me down, break me apart, until I am nothing more than a catatonic shell. It waits until I am alone and whispers stabbing words as if it was singing a lullaby. Lately, it seems to be stuck on repeat.

Something that I believe many brilliant people do not handle well are successes. When a brilliant person succeeds, it is an amazing feat that many of the general public cannot do themselves. But when a brilliant person succeeds, it is the most destructive thing that can happen. That success gets put onto a pedestal by the general populace and becomes a beacon of terror, of inadequacy, to that brilliant individual. You see, brilliant people are expected to succeed, to even succeed better and more often than the general population, I mean, that's what makes them brilliant right? However, the pressure of that success sometimes becomes so immense that it forces that brilliant person into an internal unstable shell. In their minds, they can start to believe that they can never be as good as that success, all they can do now is fail. There is such a massive stigma around failing that it can break a person's sanity.

Sometimes brilliant people can never accept what they have done or accomplished. Sometimes we feel like we can never do enough.

In high school, my schedule included class everyday, trombone lessons once a week, work on weekends, college classes at night, and our school's broadcasting club. If I told this to my friends, they would call me Wonder Woman. They didn't know how I did any of it and stayed sane. This shocked me. I look and that and say, I have too much downtime. I could do more. I am not doing enough. I don't have the right to relax. Granted, I relax anyway, but I get this sense of guilt that I didn't deserve to spend that time doing nothing productive. I could spend that time studying, or writing a paper.

To the world, I was like a super hero, but in my own mind, I was worthless.

Worthless. 

The lullaby on repeat. Worthless.

I don't deserve to relax, I don't deserve to do nothing with my time. I have no right to take a light semester. I have enough time to be taking 2 more classes, maybe even more.

This is what awaits me when I get in my car to drive home from campus.

I understand that it is perfectly ok to not do anything after I graduate. I understand that it's ok to not go to veterinary school. I understand that I don't have to know what I am doing with the rest of my life.

But I am not good enough to let my self take a break. Take a break from what? I barely have a full schedule. I sit around playing a video game for hours. What contribution does that have on society? How am I being a productive human being when I can't even interact with people? 

Worthless.

Not go to vet school? You're weak. Normal people can handle this. Why can't you? It's because you spend all those hours being worthless and not doing anything constructive. You don't even have a job. You can't even handle attempting to get a job. How are you going to survive in the real world?

These are all real thoughts that have gone through my head more than once, usually on repeat in a single moment. The unfortunate thing is that distractions only work for so long until your mind hijacks that distraction and adds it to the list of things you should be ashamed of doing instead of doing something productive. Sometimes, all that seems to work is crawling into a catatonic ball and waiting until it goes away.

Something Worth Fighting For

Everyone has their wars, their battles. The only way to keep charging forward, to continue fighting whatever battle, no matter how small, or how large, is to have something worth fighting for.

Without that, we are nothing.

The Inevitable Self Destruction of the Genius (Part 1)

The Front Gate

It has been noticed, on many occasions, that people with high IQs tend to be the most self destructive. These incidents are always accompanied with phrases like, "They were so bright, it's a shame they did drugs", "Why would they do that? They had such a promising future", or "You're so smart, if you tried harder you could be the smartest person in the world". All my life I have been on the outside of both these worlds. I have always been bright, I have a high IQ, but I have always been able to, relatively speaking, "control" my self destructive tendencies, or at least hide them with some effort. I always felt sad when "normal" people say things like that because I understand. I have been there, I am there.

And I want the "normal" people to know why.

Having a high IQ comes at a price. There is nothing you can get in this world that doesn't have a price. The obvious price is social ability. Most people can see that. The genius engineering student that doesn't leave his dorm room unless it is for class. The autistic children that can't interact like a "normal" human being. The brilliant author that cannot handle any sort of interview or social function. This is not what I plan to talk about however. This price is known by the general public, by the "normal" people.

The price I plan to talk about is the one that cannot be seen, the one that only shows itself when the individual turns to alcohol, drugs, or even suicide. It is what prevents us from utilizing our full mental capabilities.

I should probably explain my "credentials" before I get much further. I was diagnosed with ADHD when I was a child, when I was the same age as my brother when he was diagnosed. At around the same time, I was given an IQ test which resulted in a relatively high IQ. As I grew up, my mother would share the musing that I probably had some symptoms that put me on the autistic spectrum. I find myself agreeing with her. Although I never had trouble initiating interactions with other children, thanks to my impulsive tendencies, I had a lot of trouble with continuous interactions. I would be so involved within my own brain to be able to read social cues of the people around me, to understand what I was saying to them, and how they were responding to me.

Throughout the years, the negative feedback that I received from my peers began to impede on my impulsive behaviors. I became more withdrawn, more introverted, which in turn, increased the explosiveness of my reactions. The impulsiveness wanted to be free, it wanted to do. By restricting it, it essentially became a shaken bottle of soda, ready to explode when it saw a chance of escaping. The worst part of all of this is that withdrawing further and further into my mind made social interactions even harder and created, within itself, a negative feedback.

I have spent years within my own mind, watching, observing, finding patterns, and finding reasons. I watched movies about geniuses and their lives and their failings. I observed friends, peers, classmates, and teachers.

I receive a lot of people who see the brilliance in something I did or said and respond with "I wish I could spend a day in your brain". No. You actually don't. In reality, a "normal" person would not be able to spend 5 minutes in my brain and survive with sanity. In summary, my brain is a dark, cruel, terrifying, and unforgiving place. The only reason I am still sane is that I grew with my brain, I experienced each dark corner as it formed and was able to build counters for them.

My brain is a question as well as the answer. It is a maze, and a riddle. I am the gatekeeper.

Welcome to my mind. Let me be your guide.

Camp Glen Spey was more than just another camp.

It's a hard thing for myself to admit, but I don't think I will ever move on from the news of my childhood camp, Camp Glen Spey, closing residency camp. I may tell people that I am fine with it, that I have accepted it. I had my peace with last summer being my last summer because since I was supposed to be an adult, I was supposed to do important adult things involving my potential career, but I was only able to make peace because residency camp was still going to be around, I could still visit, there was the potential of coming back one day if life allowed it. The residency portion closing essentially slammed a door in my face, damaging the threads that held me together. There are people who do not understand how much a camp like Glen Spey actually does for someone.

Before I can talk about what camp did for me, it is necessary to explain what was going on in my life outside of camp. After my first summer, I was going into 6th grade. In my memory, 6th grade was a pivotal shift in terms of my mental health and my social ability. There was one girl who got everyone to stop talking to me because I was a "poser" due to the fact that I wore Happy Bunny clothing after she did. I found a good friend in one girl, Sarah, near the end of the school year, but she moved that summer. I started seeing a therapist in 7th grade, although I cannot remember what I told my mother or what she knew when she set it up. I did a lot of things in my life, a lot of extra curricular activities. I attended a Saturday enrichment program at Montclair State University, I had eventually started horseback riding, and I had my Girl Scout Troop. My life was busy, and most of it did not revolve around people that I went to school with. I slowly became more distant to those who I went to school with and there were conflicts with other students as you might expect from anyone in middle school. I do remember that during 7th and 8th grade, at least once in each year I had thoughts of suicide. I thought about how kids at school would react to me being gone, if they would even notice. I never did anything, but the thoughts were still there. I even thought of different ways to do it, but like I said, nothing ever happened. I couldn't even get to the point of actually harming myself. There was something deep in my mind that wouldn't let me try, and today, I am always thankful for that little voice, that thing that wouldn't let me do anything.

Camp was that breath of fresh air each summer. The Girl Scout councils were split by counties at the time, I lived in Morris county and the residency camp for our council closed after the first year I went. The Bergen county Girl Scout council had a residency camp and it was fortunate that I live roughly 10-15 minutes from the council office in Bergen. With a small out of council fee, I could go to their camp, Camp Glen Spey. When I went to Glen Spey, I didn't know anyone, and no one knew who I had been, or who I was molded to be in the eyes of my peers. There was no one who had an old yearbook with the picture of my with a silly mushroom cut, no one who knew where I fell in the brutal middle school hierarchy. I could be who ever I wanted to be, and that's exactly what I did. Yes, I still struggled with my ADHD, yes, I was still had a difficult time socializing, but no one knew that. All they knew was that I was some hyperactive kid who found joy in just about anything new that I learned, and I learned a lot. Every year I came back, I knew more about the working of camp, I enjoyed helping out the councilors with the opening rule spiels, I enjoyed teaching my fellow campers. The people I met there helped me through the tough years of middle school. The big thing back then was instant messenger. When I would get home from school, I would log on and talk to those who I met at camp. When I was having a bad day or the kids at school were being extra evil, I'd tell them about it and I would receive overwhelming responses of, "If I was there I'd show them a thing or two." or "They are just stupid, they don't know you." I think without camp and the people I met there I might not have survived middle school as well as I had.

When it came time for high school, I got a breath of fresh air. Due to the fact that Lincoln Park is so small, we do not have a high school. We go to the high school two towns over, in Boonton. The significant thing is that only about half the kids from Lincoln Park Middle School and about half the kids from Boonton's middle school actually went to the high school. The other half went to either the Morris county vocational schools or a catholic high school in the area. Half the kids who knew me left my school system and I met as many new kids who didn't know my. The mixing of these groups also upsets the hierarchical structure, much like mixing groups of animals. Each group has it's own hierarchy that must be reworked into a whole new hierarchy. I was able to find a group of people to call my own, in a way. Camp still helped with that hand of sanity each summer.

In the spring of freshman year, I came out as a lesbian. It was rough getting to that point, and I have to admit that without camp, I would have never gotten there. I probably would not have figured it out on my own as quickly as I did. And I am not saying that going to camp made me gay, that's not it at all. It was the people I met. There was this one girl, who I became attached to. We would almost always be in the same unit and we became really good friends. One summer, she told me she was bisexual. I had never really thought about liking girls as a possibility in life. Growing up, we are programmed to believe that heterosexual relationships are it. Boys crush on girls, girls crush on boys, and that is just how things were done. Although I had crushes on boys in middle school, they were really because society dictated that women are to think of men romantically and vice versa. That's what you were supposed to do. Once I realized that liking girls was a possibility, I started to think back. Of course, it made me really confused and very scattered on the topic of relationships. It's like when you have an engineer who is made to believe that there is only one option to solve a puzzle and they somehow try to make it work, but then someone shows up and says, "you can try it this way." and for that specific engineer, that other solution works better, the puzzle starts to make sense. I talked a lot with her and then a few others who knew, trying to figure myself out. I received a lot of encouragement from those people. Camp even introduced me to my second girlfriend, a camper that I had been at camp with for at least 3 years, whom I had become good friends with.

My last year as a camper instilled a sense of pride in what I had built for myself. That last year, almost all of the sessions I had tried to sign up for had been canceled because not enough people had signed up for then. The camp director knew who I was, knew how I was at camp and offered me a chance to participate in their CIT program that they were reviving that year. It was supposed to be only for those going into their senior year so that after they graduate, they can become staff. I was a junior when I was offered this but I decided to take it any way. The fact that my love for being at camp was noticed by the important people to the degree that they offered me a chance to do something big while I was a year too young for it gave me an unbelievable amount of pride. During that year of camp, we were able to create a plan that allowed me to work that following year. The camp can hire one underage lifeguard each season; if I got my lifeguard certification that coming year, I would be hired as their underage lifeguard for that summer. If it wasn't for camp, I probably would have never even considered getting a lifeguard certification. After that underage year, I worked for three more years, ending with this past summer.

This next part is sort of like a summary of lessons learned, but not actually at the same time. To tell about the "moral of the story" I would have to explain what led me to realize the moral. I go to a Coming Out Support Group that is facilitated by one of the LGBT groups on campus. The topic came up about the difficulty of meeting people and making friends in a large campus, about how difficult it is for introverts to reach out and start a conversation with other people. I had told these people about camp, what it did for me, and they were there to help me through the initial shock of the residency camp closing, because I couldn't handle it at all be myself. Someone made a comment about how I was a seemingly extroverted person. I went on to try to explain how the person they had begun to know was not the same person I was outside of that space. That space is very much like camp, but in it's own way. In that group, the expectation is that everyone is going there to work through something; you get to see behind the wall before you see the wall. In terms of camp, I use the metaphor of sand turning into glass for making friends. Outside of camp, making friends is very difficult and time consuming, but eventually it happens, just like sand turning into glass over time with natural pressure. Going to camp, you are taking a shovel of sand and throwing it into a pressurized furnace. The sand becomes glass very quickly, which can also lead to the glass fracturing. The good thing about that type of pressurized system, is that within as little time as a week, to as long as the season which was four weeks, you either had a good friend, or someone you detested. In the latter, you at least know that there is no potential for further friendship.

So I guess the moral is that people, more specifically introverts, need camp. They need a camp where they know no one else, where they can become who they really are. Who I was at camp was never who I was at home. At home, in school, I was Brianna. At camp, I was Mortykins. I was two very distinct people and I knew that who I was at camp was who I truly was, who I naturally was. When I reached college, more specifically in my sophomore year, who I was outside of camp began to match who I was at camp. Without camp, I would have never known who I was supposed to naturally be, I would never have been able to differentiate between who I needed to be in order to be sane and happy and who I was supposed to be in the eyes of society. Now, I've become Mordecai, the real world Mortykins. At home and in class, I am still Brianna, that will probably never change. Socially, I am closer to that true self. At camp, someone once told me why they liked me so much, it was because I was raw. Not raw as in damaged, or wounded. Raw as in natural, not molded or masked. Everyone needs a chance to be able to discover their raw selves.

What bothers me the most about the closing of Glen Spey's residency camp? The countless number of young girls who will not be able to discover their raw, natural selves. The countless number of girls who will forever be stuck, trapped under their peers who will never know what it's like to be free.

Because without camp, none of what I have just told you would have happened.

How I went from strangle-the-next-person-I-see to being just simply pissed and why I was mad in the first place.

So yes. We all know of the wonderful snow storm of yesterday that left about a good two feet of snow in Massachusetts.

My apartment complex has this policy that when they start plowing, you have to move your car out of your lot and into an already plowed one so that they can do a straight plow of the entire lot. If you do not move your car, they will tow it. The last snow storm I was feeling healthy and paranoid so I had done things like brush off my car at three in the morning then check to see if the plow was out there every twenty minutes. This time, I am recovering from a probable sinus infection and losing at life in general, so I was not up for all of the above. I looked out at about ten-ish and there were also cars out there that were not cleaned off or moved so I figured I didn't have to rush out there and move it. I also didn't think the other lots were plowed and was not feeling up to getting dressed in thick socks, boots, jacket, hat, and gloves just to go and check whether or not the other lots were plowed. At noon, I did the same thing, look out the window in the stairwell and yep, there were cars still out there. I hadn't heard anything in terms of people yelling for us to move our cars. Last time, they were banging on people's doors (and I mean banging, I could hear them knocking on everyone's doors in the stairwell) and yelling in the stairwells "Move your cars!" so I assumed that they would do the same this time. NO. I WAS WRONG. I go out at 2:20 to move my car because they had to have plowed the other lots at this point AND THERE WASN'T A SINGLE CAR. I looked left. I looked right. I looked left again. I looked right again. Not one car. NOT EVEN MY CAR. So I was pissed, and sad, and not feeling well, and not having any of the universe's shit today so I walk over to the leasing office to figure out what is up. Just like the cars, I came to find out, THERE WAS NO ONE IN THE OFFICE. There was a note "out on the property, will be back". I stood there for about a minute before trudging back to my apartment, calling my mother because I wasn't expecting this and I needed a voice of reason to get me to do something other that curl into a ball of anxiety and self judgment in my apartment and get nothing done.

After calling my mother, I called the leasing office because by then, someone should have been back and they were. I told them what happened and they gave me the number for Ernie's. I tried to explain that I didn't know the plow was out there, to which they responded, "They knocked on the doors and no one came out. You have to be more diligent about watching for the plows." Look bitch, I am in the back-facing room of the apartment, looking into the forest, and I can barely hear a solid knock. Both of my roommates occupy the spaces that have lot-facing windows. THEY SHOULD HAVE KNOCKED LOUDER LIKE LAST TIME. WHAT'S THE DEAL YO. I of course, being the politely anxious little thing that I am reduced to whenever a phone call has to be made, I said none of this to her. So I called Ernie's. I told them what happened and they responded with, "The total comes to $149.91 and we only take cash." ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME. First of all, that's ridiculous. When I first called my mother for the voice of reason and sanity, she said "It will probably be seventy-something and that will be it." BUT NO. AND THEY ONLY TAKE CASH? WHAT IF SOMEONE DOESN'T HAVE ACCESS TO 150 DOLLARS IN CASH?

Sorry, I digress. The only fortunate thing so far is that there was an ATM directly across the street from Ernie's. So I grabbed my things and ran out the door to make the bus that will take me to about two to three blocks from the place where my car was. Remember the first two sentences of this post? The two foot blizzard? Yeah. The bus stop I got off at was badly plowed and there was two feet of un-plowed road between the bus and the cleared sidewalk. I forgot to mention. My nice winter boots are not water proof. Where are my water proof boots you ask? IN THE BACK OF MY CAR. So I am on the sidewalk. It's only cleared for about five feet, and then it becomes this "walk plowed" portion pretty much the rest of the way. For those who do not know, "walk plowed" is what I like to call a snowy area that has been walked on so much that you aren't sinking into inches of snow but there is still at least an inch of slush type stuff. So I trudge over to the ATM and get the money. I trudge over to Ernie's and there is Swooshy, sitting peacefully still covered in snow. I go in and eventually talk to the guy. "Which car?" he asked. I just pointed to Swooshy and said "That one." cause I could.

So he gets out the paper work, and gives me the bill. I say I have $160 because the ATM only gives $20 bills. "I can't give you change. You'll have to go to Cumbies and get change." For those of you New Jersey folks, Cumbies is pretty much a Quick Check. Fantastic. So I trudge back across the street, to the Cumbies that is next to the ATM. Let me take this moment to remind you all of the not-water-proof boots that I was wearing and the "walk plowed" sidewalks. My toes were cold and wet. So I get a Mountain Dew to break the twenty so I could pay the people and get my car back. I trudge back over. I pay for my car. WOO! I am allowed to now take my car back from whence it was stupidly taken. I go to unlock my car and guess what. THE ENTIRE CAR WAS UNLOCKED. Ok, so they broke into my car to take it out of park, I can understand that on a very, very, VERY, low level. BUT THEY LEFT IT UNLOCKED. ARE YOU KIDDING ME. Anyway, I digress again. I start it up and clear the foot of snow off my car. I put my car in drive and try to drive it out but the people at Ernie's put my car on top of a solid two inches of snow slush. This is the part of the story where I tell you how I went from strangle-the-next-person-I-see to being just simply pissed. One of the tow truck drivers walked out of the office on his phone and noticed me struggling with my car. He walks over and begins to attempt to direct me in a "this way may make this easier" fashion. I tried it. It didn't work. He has that "Hm. This isn't going to work." face. So he walks over and grabs a shovel and tries to help clear the snow from in front of my tires. I try again. It still doesn't work. Then I remembered that my dad is an awesome person. I put the car in park (not that it was going to go anywhere or anything) and get out. "Hold on, I got something." The guy just looked a little confused. I open the back of my car and pull out two emergency treads that you wedge under the wheels to get you out of a slippery situation. (My dad is the one who got them for me, that's why he is awesome.) The guy just looks at them, then at me, and says in surprise, "Well, you're prepared." Then he goes on to joke about how I have to use them at an impound lot to get my car back. Finally, Swooshy was freed from her slushy prison! He helped me collect the treads, said "Have a nice day." and walked off. Finally having my car back and not stuck in slush, I drive on home to my apartment.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I went from strangle-the-next-person-I-see to being just simply pissed and why I was mad in the first place. Lunch out.

Linear (with a side of flowers)

The increasing illogicality of people and institutions around me have made me start to break down what is around myself and try to explain it. I am a science major. I like science. Science isn't black and white, yes or no, and so on. But at the same time, it is, while still being very gray and slightly endless. Tangential theories are a staple in the sciences, where you can be on one train of thought but then on another different one but at the same time, still on the original idea and they all make sense and come together in a nice giant pot of SCIENCE.

When people in the science start showing signs of complete illogical activity, I begin to twitch helplessly in the fetal position in the corner of my mind.

The things that scientists sometimes do when they are not involved with a science project is baffling. Story time! First, backstory. The first week of a semester is called the "add/drop" period. This is the time for people to feel out their classes and to drop some or add others without missing anything too important or having a record of dropping the class on their transcript. Normally, most sane teachers don't require important homework items or iClicker assignments (when you answer questions in class with this fancy remote that records the fact that you were there) until after the add/drop period is over. Now for the story I promised. So my one class, a science class, on the first day, the teacher drops the hint on at least five occasions that the students should read chapter two for the next class period. I have not gotten the book yet because in my experience in the past, I get all gung ho about the books, get all of the required texts, and then maybe touch one. So I waited this semester. THE ONE SEMESTER I WAS SMART ABOUT BUYING BOOKS. So the first class was on Tuesday. On Wednesday, a friend texted me saying that she talked to the teacher and the teacher emphasized again that come class on Thursday, something will happen in which those who didn't read will wish that they had read. I, of course, did not have the book. The person I was texting had told the teacher that she wasn't in a position to buy the book until the following week, in which the teacher replied "Borrow from a friend." I didn't have the book, my other friend didn't have the book, and about half the class didn't have the book. My other friend ended up buying the last copy from the Textbook Annex that Wednesday, the teacher had loaned out all 4 copies of her book, which meant that there wasn't a copy in the library. What happens on Thursday in class you ask? WE HAD A QUIZ. Let me remind you that this is the third day of the semester. THE THIRD DAY. ADD/DROP IS NOT FOR ANOTHER WEEK-ISH. Once I finally get the book in the mail that next day, Friday, I look in the book and the quiz material was from one diagram on a page that was 80% into the chapter. ILLOGICAL. DOES NOT COMPUTE.

I got into a discussion with my mother about it, and we determined that if I had gone into engineering, (that's what I would have done if animals were never involved) it would have been just as bad but for different reasons. Engineers are very linear, very black and white, yes and no, etc. They are trained to work with things that have definite answers and definite paths and rules and outlines that work relatively across the board. However, the problem arises that sometimes they become a little too rigid and sometimes cannot deviate from the rigidness that is engineering.

So on one side, you have gray blobs that sometimes have no end. On the other side, you have black and white and nothing in between. I am not one of either. I think linearly, to an extent, but I understand and embrace the concept of gray, because there are always exceptions to the rules because that is how life does. I might not agree with life half of the time, but I understand that that is how it does. So, back on topic, I think linearly, but as I have just illustrated with my words, I thing very tangentially along side my linear thinking. I think linearly with a side of flowers.

I don't know where that falls but I know that I am stuck in an illogical warzone in which I want to be parts of both but neither at the same time. Since I cannot remedy the illogic of the world, I will have to settle for the insane outbursts from my inner logic demon that tries to devour anything illogical in it's path.