Breaking the Silence

It brings me great pleasure to announce that I'm still alive, literate, and connected to the intertubes. Let's get to it, then.

I just got back from my first visit to the big-boy doctor. I have to admit, I kind of miss the Lion King pastel drawings and stuffing my pockets full of lollypops, but from what I understand there are benefits to seeing an internist as opposed to a pediatrician; for one, I can live with marginally less shame. For another, my new doctor doesn't look uncomfortable asking if I'm sexually active; having that conversation with your pediatrician when you're 24 is... well, it's awkward for everyone. So overall, the changeover has definitely been a positive one. It helps that I genuinely like my new doctor. This is really important since he'll occasionally be handling my balls. It's still awkward, but I just want to feel, ya know, safe.

Anyways, the bottom line of the visit was this: I am the pinnacle of good health. I think his exact words were "a burbling font of vitality." I kid, of course. Those are my words, as is my assertion that I can focus healing energies through my fingertips or that I can radiate my Life Force to spur the growth of trees and flowering plants. Then again, he didn't deny that I could perform those feats.

At Lauren's suggestion, I asked the doctor about ADD medication. I was hesitant to even ask him and, in so doing, clinicalize something that, to me, is a mere foible. Unfortunately, it's become hard to deny the growing mass of people frustrated by my inability to ignore blinking lights and shiny objects. Also, I have what seem to be "blackouts" in my short-term memory; conversations I can't remember having, forgetting where I've put something or what I'm doing two or three times within a one-minute timespan, etc. So the doc and I ran through a questionnaire from the DSM IV and... well, I have attention issues (not so much with the hyperactivity - I'm a lazy sack, after all).

The question is, does it affect life to the point where you want to be on meds? No. I don't think my work has suffered particularly because of it, and my life is definitely in working order. I do kind of daydream about giving a one-week trial a whirl, though; in these fantasies, taking Ritalin turns me into the Sherlock Holmes of Somerville, a liquid-cooling system for my overclocked brain. Seriously, though, how many super-detectives do you know on Ritalin? None. The kids you know on Ritalin are out chasing birds with sticks.


And to prove I have ADD, let's change the conversation. Look at this!

Seriously, he's ridiculous. He thinks "aw, I wanna bite that toy!" but then he realizes "urrrrr, I'm trapped in this box!" Beer can breastwork FTW.