Lately I've felt like my life has had all the stability of a sugared up obese child on a sit-n-spin. My well being has refused to stop darting willy-nilly for at least the past month. Trying to put together the pieces of this disjointed puzzle have proved beyond impossible. But I can at least do two things: explore examples, and formulate connections.

Let us start with the example. For damn near the past year I have desperately needed shelves. After a manic fit of room-re-organization last winter, every book, cd, dvd, and nick-knack has become a refugee to my floor. Now in defense of my typical demeanor, by and large the reason I let it go for at least the first six-months was a calculated mixture of lethargy and procrastination (you know, the bill paying aspect my person). But I could only use these tactics for so long...........and still have a yard sale in the corner of my quarters. So I began to look around. The earth-defending, youthfull posi-punk took the lead, and the hunt was on for "ethical" shelving. I was determined to find a bookshelf made by a directly fundable, indigenous peoples, who didn't use wood, but some sort of environmentally-friendly wood alternative.......that was not built in a sweat-shop........or tested on animals. To my shock and suprise, no such shelving existed. Like a rubix-cube with pieces missing, there was no right combination.

Suddenly, this wide eyed young lad on a bike felt a long thin finger tap him on the shoulder, and he was greeted by an older, jaded man with aesthetic needs. The voice that slid from his this, pale lips hissed,"You like the Bauhaus. You like modern designs inspired by them. So what if you have to find them at places that have crushed the original ideals behind those pieces. You need this, and at your age, you've earned it." Sad to say, in my recent isolation, without an entourage of ever-hopefull nineteen year old college freshmen around me, I was beggining to "act my age." My hand slid across the keyboard, and typed in "Design within reach." I lustily eyed "affordable," sleek, well crafted, minimal, modern designed furniture. The kind that I wanted in my house. I am not a freshmen in college, and I no longer wish my room to communicate this image.

I debated for a week about my dilemma, and then dropped it altogether as a cowards escape. However, this would not make my belongings walk quietly away in defeat. Another month goes by, and still no shelves. By now I had dipped down the long roller coaster decline of depression. Now the shelf "situation" had taken on super-human importance. I needed shelves, but agonized over the ethical details. This went against everything I purported to believe in. I knew that buying these shelves would only bring happiness to me, and be counter-productive to the happiness of others. Was "selling out" or growing up? Was I going to become just another ill-demeanored indie rocker with bad hair, and repertoire of useless scene knowledge? How do you not trust anyone over thirty when you nearly represent that demographic? In the end, evil prevailed. I ordered one set of designer, cube-shelving units in black. They are sleek and simple, and I can never listen to "Another Oppressive System" while looing a them. I was a wreck for a week over this, but in less time than that they will be a part of my life. They will organize my living space, tidy up the place,and ever so slightly alter the essence of my being. Truly I am a basket case.

Why all of this depressive neurosis you may ask? Well, let's look at one hypothesis(quickly, and hopefully in one paragraph). Being a post Crohns disease, foot and an half resection-operation, vegan, my body is a bit special. Over the years, I have formulated an otc cocktail to keep me physically on track. Ladies, and gentlemen this is a close as I come to drugs: one multi-vitamin, one B&C complex, one Iron pill, and two digestive pills. Alot I know, but lets inspect this a little closer, shall we. Due to two separate occasions I have noticed what I believe to be a pattern. If I stop regularly taking these, my body rewards me by putting my mental, physical, and emotional well being in a blender. This most recent occurrence, I was letting my bill paying side run the house. So, when I ran out of pills I shrugged it off believing little in their importance. After a few weeks, little dark clouds formed around my aura, then larger black clouds, then a funnel cloud, and finally, as of about a week ago, a tornado ripping through my brain destroying any coherence it came across. I was tired all the time. I could neither concentrate, nor think clearly. And emotionally I rather felt like I wanted to die. While alot of the things I dwell on in state hold their own in real-world importance, I certainly am not going to be able to do anything about them in this state. I finally said "enough" this past week, and grasped at the pill straw in hopes it could do something about my situation. Two days later, sadly it has. I feel as though I returning to whatever normalcy I can. However, now I do harbor a slight depression over this realization. So as you are tucking yourself in tonight with your cookies, soy-milk, and beloved "teddy" (yes, you, I see that stupid bear), close your eyes with peace and think to yourself,"At least I'm not Denman; boy that guy is fucked up!"