Often, I get the impression that people don't believe me when I say that I don't care. In the past, this may have been a shrewd stance to take, because I was probably acting or saying things histrionically just to gauge reactions. Now, though, I really don't give a shit. I'm almost geriatric in my complete nonchalance. Old people have stopped caring about impressions because they realize, in their advanced age, that whatever they say or do could be misconstrued, and so they have resolved to be as they are, for better or worse. Certain societal pleasantries strike them as absurd, or simply extraneous, and so they cut them out or off before they have a chance to take hold.
The problem with this is that some choose to express their remove with insults or barbs. Luckily, I've curtailed this impulse considerably. I can still be acerbic, but now I am content to be aloof. The mental image one has when the word "aloof" gets thrown around is an oaf shrugging. This connotes confusion (born of stupidity), which, I assure you, is not the case. Either that, or someone napping springs to mind. I may be more willing to nap than usual, but am frequently prevented from doing so because of Provigil. I used to resent not being able to sleep, but now it is like a burner under my ass that makes me get up and move. If not, I might really be the picture of a typical depressive.
It irks me when someone mopes around noticeably. Trying not to be noticed ironically, and hypocritically, is its own form of attention-seeking. This is one of the reasons that the goth look is bullshit. You can't really espouse a "don't look at me" attitude wearing a dog collar and jackboots. Flamboyance always attracts attention, and nail polish is actually no different than shouting at the sky, a mohawk, or a Harley Davidson. This last one annoys me considerably in that it gives tools a platform and a megaphone in the form of a loud sputtering tailpipe, and I'm so glad that South Park (which also made fun of goths' ethos of nonconformity, which of course becomes its own form of conformity) chose to call these enthusiasts just what they are: idiots. (Or something more crude that I've grown out of saying since high school.)
As you can see, I'm not totally without boundaries or guidance. This is what drives me insane when it comes to condescension from theists. Like I've said, I'm an aloof nontheist. So when somebody associates not believing in God with a sociopathic, or psychopathic, streak, it's insulting. You know what keeps me from walking into a mall and killing dozens of people with some sort of gun? 1. Guns scare me, and 2. That's fucking WRONG. Beyond being an indicator of severe mental illness, mass murder takes a lot of effort. I've said it before, but I'm lazy. I'm also not (some may disagree, but fuck them) crazy.
I do a lot of things that may seem rude. I may not immediately say "Hello" or respond to someone's inane question. In fact, though, I likely am trying to orient myself and so miss such overt cues to speak. It still occurs to me to do things that I don't, but now some impulses disappear like dust in the wind (to quote Kansas, of all horrible bands. I just saw Old School again, though, so that song permeates my psyche way more than it ever should. And Red Dawn was on cable too, so I might shout, apropos of nothing, "WOLVERINES!")
Last Friday, I got sufficiently sick of waiting for the stem cell procedure results to be felt and seen, so I gave myself a shot of Avonex. The point of the procedure was to render that mode of treatment moot. I still adamantly believe that interferons are ultimately deceptive and insufficient in their treatment, but I figured, "What the hell?" The injection is traumatic in its application--the needle is huge, as I've shown--and horribly annoying when it comes to the twelve-hour flu-like side effects that are the trademark of any interferon. Still, I gave myself the shot because I thought, "Why not?" I thought about the stem cell study and how this may cloud the findings, but I quickly dismissed this apprehension and adopted the attitude that, I'm guessing, a lot of prospective mothers have before they decide on having an abortion: "What the hell? It's my body."
It's unclear whether the noticeable improvement I felt was the result of the shot or the procedure, but both can coexist as far as I'm concerned. I told my nurse that the two should not be mutually exclusive. I understand that one may pollute the findings of the other, but I'm really not concerned with the purity of the study at the expense of my own personal health. It's my body, for better or worse, and I'll do with it what I please--which is a limited smorgasbord of options as it is. This may sound like the callow Cartman--"I do what I want!"--and it may be querulous, but whateva. I do what I want!
I refuse to be beholden to parameters that have been set up by the directors of the study. I have nothing against them, and understand why they would rather I not do this. However, I did what I did because I wanted to do it. This sounds bratty, but, with multiple sclerosis and other ailments, it's important to do whatever you believe will help you. In my case, it was starting Avonex again.
It's not like I enjoy taking the shot. Everything about it sucks--the needle, the blood, the side effects, etc.--so it's not as if I took it because I like it. That's crazy, and I'm not a clinical maniac. Anything that may improve my quality of life will be tried. Except Farmville.
It may upset some people, but I don't care. I'm not kidding. I DON'T CARE.
R
