in Crystal Cave (a large
underground geode) on South Bass Island, Ohio – 6/23/2010 – photo by
Dianne Borsenik

I had nightmares last night.  One involved a rupture.  In another,
Robbie and Brian were living with us, watching the grandkids.  I walked
in with one or both of the girls to see Brian watching TV, Robbie doing
something like cleaning off the dining room table, and Marky, the
grandson with cerebral palsy, sitting at the table with a spray bottle
of some sort of household cleanser (I wanna say Lysol with bleach) at or
in his mouth, while everyone else was oblivious.  I panicked — had he
ingested the poison? — how did he get the bottle anyway with two adults
“watching” him? — and how could he put it in his mouth right in front of
them without anyone noticing?  Robbie tried to say it was no big deal,
suggesting that the worst that could happen was an allergic reaction
involving some hives or something. “I have allergic reactions all the
time,” he said.  I pointed out that drinking bleach or other poison is
far more serious than developing a fucking rash, “just ask Geri and my
mom, both of whom are nurses, if you’re not smart enough to figure it
out yourself,” whereupon he started throwing things (I think they were
cupcakes) at me.  “Or ask your own mom,” I said, whereupon he charged at
me, apparently taking this as a criticism of his mom, who works at
Wal-Mart, while Brian continued watching his movie or playing his X-Box
and Marky just sat there looking bemused and healthy like maybe he’d
drunk none of it after all, seemingly forgotten by all but me.  Geri
must’ve been at work.  I awoke
before I could get him to the hospital, and before Robbie’s first punch
made contact with my face.  There were other
nightmares, too.

Yesterday I uploaded pics from the last Lix and Kix (and more) on my Facebook page.

Does society really need to medicate its children as much as it does?  I
don’t really agree with diagnoses like ADHD. I remember back in the
day when
there was a thing called manic depression. I almost became convinced I
had it, and then the experts decided there was really no such thing or
it was a misnomer, and now there was something called bipolar. What’ll
it be 10 years from now?  What’ll ADHD be?  I spurn such labels. Why
does different or supernormal or even subnormal have to be called an
illness? Why does abnormal have to have a bad connotation? I think
being
different from the lowest common denominator of humanity can be good.
If we
were all LCD we’d still be in the stone age or dark ages or replaying
some never-existed-anyway Leave It to Beaver episode.

And look at this tombstone I found on Kelley’s Island the other day. 
What the Fuck?


found in cemetery on Kelley’s Island,
Ohio – 6/23/2010 – photo by John Burroughs

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