In a Polaroid snapshot of my behavior, someone once told me that I had a hint of OCD with a blend of depression and post-traumatic stress disorder. If you’re going to diagnose me like a flavor of ice cream, I will take a scoop of Rocky Road with some hot fudge and one of those formaldehyde cherries. Something is wrong when a disorder serves more as a crutch to lean on than something you are seeking to cure. If you want a crutch, take up smoking.
1 comment:
that reminds me... we should take an afternoon trip to americas cup... maybe after a trip to the resource center.
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