Random Thoughts: June 11, 2007

The Paxil Poster Child Vs The Haloperidol Poster Child
by Jasmine Sailing

Well, sheesh, I just wrote the intro for this section. I'm supposed to think AGAIN?!

I did actually have a thought earlier today. In the past I thought some of the usage of my name in search key words was silly. EG "Jasmine Sailing Cels" being there in a keyword pile with "Disney Cels", "Miyazaki Cels", and "Studio Ghibli Cels". I wouldn't have thought "Jasmine Sailing Cels" was quite as big of an enterprise as those others.

Yesterday there was at least joking discussion of impending googling of me. Ok, I don't particularly enjoy being pressed into using that phrase. I was a gopher user, I used archie and veronica, I used lynx. When there came a time of existent reasons for using lynx, I had an altavista habit long before google existed. But, whatever, I suppose everyone knows what it means to be googled these days. It's something like being diddled while helpless, except in a more cerebral than physical fashion. Or would that be more of a historical fashion?

Anyway! When people google me, there's a lot of boring crap to wade through. Redundant book listings (though some have reviews or comments attached), search key phrases, various odds and ends that I can't imagine would interest anyone too terribly. But then there are all of the other things buried in there, if people dig enough. In some circles I wouldn't be terribly keen on initial easy to find results expressing too many opinions about, say, how much of a no-brained drooling psychopath I am (I don't typically drool, I have stacks of MRI pictures to prove that I do indeed have a brain -- albeit a brain with "tons of lesions" as one neurologist put it). So I decided to check this morning to see how embarrassed I am if any of the threats of googling come to fruition.

I'm not sure about that. Let me stress, though, that I honestly do mean I only wanted to know how embarrassed I am. Those types of results are out there, people will find them if they dig enough. People are welcome to say whatever they want about me, and if it's bad I wish them luck in trying to out-do ME on the bad-mouthing me front. They'll need it! And, realistically, the most likely sites to pop up fastest are my own. They'll probably be wading through my own damning of myself first. So, yep, it's mostly a curiosity about what I might be blushing and twitching about this time. As it is I have a compulsive confessional habit, so anyone who spends enough time around me will wind up knowing plenty of my darker "secrets" (right) anyway.

In this curiosity search I did notice one new thing of interest, though -- I seem to have become a key search phrase (on webmd or a similar site) for Paxil (SSRI anti-depressant, I took it for about 1/2 year as you probably know if you actually read anything here. That was 11 years ago, and I haven't taken any anti-depressants since then. Personally I find it more than a bit repulsive that such meds are doled out like candy, especially in too many instances where they moreso only curb a person's interesting and harmless quirks -- alongside granting a hefty dose of vicious side effects. I love quirks! I don't love vicious side effects!). Hrm. So. I've become a Paxil ad.

On one hand this was vaguely amusing. Perhaps even slightly appropriate, barring the part where I dislike Paxil and found the crash worse than that from most street drugs. On the other hand, I couldn't help but think "Damn, I want to be a key phrase for Haloperidol instead!. That would be soooooo much more appropriate!". Curse my luck! And, no, I have never actually been on Haloperidol, though I'm sure I could come up with an ample supply of people who would adamantly claim I needed to be. I do take Valium. Yep! I'm one of those suburban housewives on Valium! Except I live in the city, I would suck as a housewife, and... well, I take Valium. It's appropriate, because Tear Garden's Valium was one of my theme songs during my first marriage (not that I had a dog to lick, I had a ferret). I think I was actually a semi-decent housewife that time around.

Now... (?!) Uh... I don't suppose anyone wants to be my housewife? If so, you'll need to excuse it that I have a husband and we can't be legally married. I can't get you pregnant, either, though I've always kind of wanted to figure out how to knock guys up. I regularly claimed that I wanted Karl Rove to bear my love child when he was in the prime of his glory. These things never seem to work out for me, though. I gave up on that dream when I became afraid he could conceivably land in federal prison and dump the kid on me. What's the fun of knocking guys up if that happens?! Perhaps I should be looking for more of a fragile flower of a guy anyway, so I can be evil and destructive and vengeful.

So I've gotten off-track as usual. All I was really pondering was being a poster child for Paxil. I am obviously an alienated poster child. I ran away from home because I didn't like the rules, I didn't appreciate being held back and told how to feel. I was still too anxious anyway (where was that Haloperidol when I needed it?!). Valium's nice because it takes the edge off whenever you need it to, and otherwise you simply don't take it. I also like beta blockers for the same reason. These things do not attempt to alter your body chemistry and personality ALL DAY EVERY DAY.

(Do you detect a grudge? Why, yes you do! One might even say I consider those types of meds PURE EVIL, but I know there are occasionally people who benefit from them. Obviously I would make a better poster child for acid than for any pharmaceutical, but I fear that would trend backward from the type of advertisement I would prefer to be for it.)

Happy birthday, btw, to someone from my Go club today. I won't name names since he probably doesn't need to be associated with a wanna-be poster child for Haloperidol. He would know who he is if he read this, which I strongly doubt he ever would (he's not much of a computer user, and therefore not much of a googler suspect... though he did once hear someone else talk about doing it and showing torture/ play piercing pics of me to co-workers). I missed my chance at prematurely saying those trite routine 2 words yesterday, so I'm voicing them now to get them off my fat chest.

(Maybe not a fat chest, but my mammogram results -- I only have cysts -- said my breasts are too dense for solid results and an ultrasound was necessary. I immediately thought "My breasts are fat and need to lose weight?!" Huh. It's not like I have a large cup size. The world must be full of obese breasts. It could make a person wonder why we go through the pain of getting smushed for a mammogram if our breasts are too fat for lumps to be found anyway... but I think it's moreso that not all lumps can definitely be found if you happen to have pudgy breasts. In hopeful theory, anyway. I'll be telling myself that the next time they're smushing me.)

Cheers until I next get around to this. Hopefully I'll refrain from mentioning fat breasts again. ;) As I await my next thought of the moment, I'll be depressed and anxious (music's always struck me as a fine way to treat those ailments) and wondering if I managed to type Haloperidol enough times in this one entry to make my dreams come true.

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