Loud Worlds, Silent Words

Reading An Unquiet Mind, by Kay Redfield Jamison.

Again.

First time, many moons ago, it hit me like a thorazine bottle -- made out of lithium salt (if you're a chemist, look it up on the Periodic Table) -- in the forehead.

Now, not so much. Which of course means more than ever.

But it does kind of make me go from being disgruntled to gruntled. It’s good to be unstigmatized and feel not-so-singled out. It’s another thing completely to be categorized so distinctly and articulately. Especially after being so uncategorazible and given a wide latitude to emote for the past moons so many.

I’m trying to figure out how to take a grad course in creative writing. Is Iowa out of the question? I read their admissions policy today. I’m a day late for entry submission. Guess it’s time to go into self-imposed remission.