Tuesday, May 20, 2008


First off, happy birthday to El Hajj Malik El-Shabazz, bka Malcolm X. This brother would have been 83 yesterday if he were still here in the physical.

Congratulations to my baby sister for graduating from college. Her journey to the cap and gown was a long and difficult one, but she handled all the pressure like a fucking G. G for graduate. I love you to life.

I realized that I may be bipolar/manic depressive. All the while I simply figured I had a case of LWBA (living while Black in America), but it may actually be deeper than that. This weekend was full of valleys and peaks, and I couldn't quite pinpoint the source of my anxiety. I wanted to slap fire out of my brother, and hug up my sister all at the same time.

My family's Caribbean heritage forces us to deny the existence of any disease that isn't cancer, hypertension, or diabetes, however. My dad once told me that there are no learning disabilities in Guyana, only lazy children. And that laziness could be beaten out of you. He and his brother were hit with rulers in grade school for being left-handed, so I don't get much sympathy from him for being moody. His remedy? "Son, just go to sleep when you feel like that. That's what I do when I feel down." My remedy? Copious amounts of ganja. It does work on occassion, but I'm tired of walking through life blitzed all the damn time. Too many folks ignore their problems, in hopes that those problems will eventually ignore them. But even if you do ignore the problems in your conscious mind, they will manifest themselves as disease later on in life.

Take the Bipolar quiz at this site to see if you might suffer from it. I scored a 51, which is considered to be severe:
Bipolar Quiz

One of my students told me that she is considering going to JAIL to LOSE WEIGHT. Her rationale is that since she wouldn't like the food, she would eat much less and therefore lose weight. As I laughed to myself, my smile turned to a frown when I realized that she wasn't joking. Nor was the child who told me that he can't wait to graduate, so that he can begin selling crack full time. He is merely in school to fulfill his agreement with his parole officer. My intial thoughts are, "who's to blame for this shit?", but this goes far beyond blame. Finding the culprit, the social engineer really doesn't fucking matter at this point. The damage has been done, and my 30 minutes of counseling is the band-aid on the fractured skull.

Babies need to stop having babies. And I've met 16 year old babies, and 45 year old babies. I tell these youngsters to go to fucking Toys R Us if all they want is a doll. It's much cheaper, and you can throw/give away the doll when you tired of playing with it. A life is nothing to waste.

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