Cotard's vs BIID

Maybe I have BIID.

Body Integrity Identity Disorder (or BIID) is an extremely rare psycological disorder that makes sane people amputate their own limbs for no apperent reason. Due to undisclosed reasons, victims of this disorder feel as theough can only be normal if they lose a certain part of their body. This makes them happy somehow.

But I have a motive. My arm hurts. The story goes back a few days ago where my friend dared me to throw that fucking rock at that fucking car. I bet him I could. I'll tell you; that fucking rock did hit that fucking car, which stopped - then we ran. Stupid, I know, it's stuff like this that can only happen when you're young. ANYWAYS, that fucking rock hurt my fucking arm, actually I hust it by throwing that fucking rock. I bet you can't say fucking more than 5 times in one sentance and still make sense.

Poeple with BIID and people with Cotard's syndrome seem to be somewhat similair. Cotard's syndrome constitues of people who insit they don't exist, and BIID victims insist that in order to be normal, they need to make a part of themselves nonexistant.

Maybe I'll go listen to "Pour Some Sugar On Me" from 1978.

Arrest Yourself

I am lying in bed wondering whether or not I have Cotard's syndrome.

Jules Cotard was a French military surgeon who only lived to be 49 years old, but he will always be remebered by discovering one of the most screwed-up mental ilnesses ever: Cotard's syndrome is a mental disorder where the victim cnocludes the he (or she) is dead. Some patients believe that they are missing crutial internal organs or that they have no blood. Other victims of this diseas claim they can smell their flesh rotting. I must admist, this has never happened to me, but sometimes I do feel like I'm dead. This tends to happen alot when I'm at school and there's hundreds of people wondering around the hallways carelessly and sometimes I wonder if they even notice me. People care so much about what they look like so that other people will not judge them, but where is everyone really looking? Not at me, that's for sure.

Sometimes I wonder if we're all Bruce Willis' that roam this planet - dead - but we don't know it, and one day we will all realise that everything we know and feel is not actually tangeable. But who really thinks about shit like this? Sometimes I feel this way, but I am now certain I don't have Cotard's syndrome.

If you are one fo those people who don't know you're dead - you're fine. But if you do think your dead - arrest yourself.

Can't Sleep

My eyes are going to roll back into my head. Wait - that doesn't make any sense. I'm going to have to explain better.

When you sleep, your eyes roll back into your head, and everytime I close my eyes I can feel my eyes rolling back - and I keep thinking they're not going to stop. It's like some kind of Chinese torture. So I am siting at my computer listening to the new Snow Patrol CD and telling you about my crazy thoughts.

As you know, I broke up with my "not-really-a-grilrfriend" girlfriend about a month - actually, 2 now - ago. And as much as I coulnd't stand her, I can't get enough of her now. What the hell is wrong with me? Maybe it's just the laws of love and hate: My Enimy is my Best Friend who I am in love with, but Your Enimy has to be your Best Friend ecause in order to have a true enimy they have to be your Best Friend. Make sense?

Well that's all I got to say for now, I can't think of any more ways to confuse you.

Dreams & TVs

This theory that i am about to share with you is probably one of the most interesting theories that I have ever heard. I stumbled upon it while readong the book "Killing Yourself To Live: 85% of a True Story". I hope you enjoy this as profoundly as I did.

Here is my question. Have you ever had a dream that lasted a long time, like 100 years? But in reality, most dreams typically only last 20 minutes. So here's the question, how does our head know how to skip through many years, but in reality it was only 20 minutes? Is it that TV has tought us how to skip through time in our heads? Because if we were watching a TV show and it was the middle of the day and then theres a commercial and it's night time, our brains automatically understand that we have skipped hours ahead into the future without even thinking. Just like that. But what about when there was no TV, there were books, which also perpetuate the same sensation (and it follows the same basic principle), but what about before books, how did those people dream? Were those dreams only in the time-frame of 20 minutes, or did they know how to skip through time in their heads like we do now?

This theory strikes me as simple as it can be, and yet without even knowing it, this is true. How did we learn that we could skip through time in our heads?

Job

I am quilified to have a job.

But I don't have a job. I should have a job, but I don't. I have a Social Security Number that prevents this sort of thing happening. But it still happened. So I'm looking for a job now because (a) I really want to start getting to know what it's like abd (b) I need money (for a multitude of reasons). I want to work at Chapters (a book store), but I don't. I should. But I don't.

Chapters; for those of you who live outside of Canada, is a book store. I reckon they do have Chapters outside of Canada, but then again when I talk to those few people that I do have on my instant messaging list, they have no idea what I'm talking about. Then I tell them that there's a Starbucks that's usually inside or around it, then they understand. Starbucks (for those who don't know) is a coffee shop, much like Canada's Tim Horton's. That's another place I wouldn't mind working, it seems cozy and friendly there. Just no McDonald's. Too greasy.

But ANYWAYS, I need and want a job. Desperately. I hope Chapters calls before Tim Horton's (aforementioned). That's it for today, I'm going to go finish up some coursework and read my new favourite book: Killing Yourself To Live: 85% of a True Story. But ANYWAYS, I got to go, and do those things (aforementioned), so I'll get back to you all soon!

Qualifications

I am qualified to have a girlfriend.

But why would someone be qualified to have a girlfriend (or boyfriend for that matter)? Well there is a multitude of reasons, but I don't see me being qualified to get dumped. Even though for some women I am very much qualified.

So ANYWAYS, I was dumped, not because I am a shit boyfriend, or a lazy asshole, but because I've been acting "different". Although, everyone but (I'll pretect her annanimity and call her J.H.) J.H., has either said (a) you are always like this and/or (b) she needs to get over herself. I couldn't agree more, with both, I s'pose. So then that means that (a) she likes someone else or (b) she was all about the chase and not about the catch. She's probably sitting in her room writing poetry about some other guy, and her mother will walk in and ask hre what she is doing. Then her cellphone will ring and someone will conveniantly ask her to meet them at the mall. She will agree and leave.

But ANYWAYS, I'm getting off-topic now. I need to know some "qualifications" for being a boyfriend. Why did she dump me and why do I still care? Maybe i didn't meet her "qualifications". OR (a) she never liked me and/or (b) I never liked her.

Firs Things First (Or Second)

It's nights like these I wish existed more. It's raining, a cold wind is passing through and I am stuck inside at 11PM at my desk with the glow of my lamp warming me up. If you are reading this you are either (a) really interested in what I've got to say or (b) really bored. Both work fine, depending on your personality, and depending on wheather or not you have read some of my past blogs before. If you have then you're either (a) really curious to when I am going to get to my point or (b) wondering why I keep giving you two choices. Both work fine again, I s'pose.

But ANYWAY, what I've realy got to say about me more or less. I don't want to hear any complaints about this author (that being me) because if you are really inerested in what I've got to say then you will probably be at brunch with one of your friends. You will casually discuss my critisism againt Britney Spears or untalented Hollywood stars. Or, (perhaps?) you will discuss what I've got to say about the world in general. Then your friend will begin to say how much he cannot stand my style -- as in how I am telling you this -- and then your cellphone will ring, and yuo will agree to meet someone for dinner.

So ANYWAYS, that is pretty much what you can expect from me, or you perhaps (half) expected more than what you've read. And then after you read this you will ponder why I did not post this blog first. I think maybe I'll leave that one up for you. Because you are either (a) really intelligent and understand why or (b) really unintellegant and never comprehend what I am here to say. Both work, I guess.

Who am I? (Or perhaps more accurately) Who else could be me?

Has it ever dawned on you that you are just like everyone else and there is nothing special about you. Not a strand. Well it has on me, I am nothing special, nothing out of the ordinary. I have a normal life, a decent life, I have friends and a family, and most important; a pool.
I got that saying "Who am I? (Or perhaps more accurately) Who else could be me?" from a book about low culture called Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs by Chuck Klosterman. In many ways, this book has been the guidline to my year so far. There is nothing special about this author's life, and there is no real point to care about why Pamela Anderson had sex with Tommy Lee and asked "Where are we?" 20 times in her scandalist sex tape, as author Chuck Klosterman explains. But what are we really looking at? At the end of a review for this movie, a critic might say "where are we, indeed" but I think it is fit to ask "where are we without Pamela Anderson?".

Our lives have become so induced in celebrities that celebrities are famous for being famous. They don't deserve the spotlight and talent has been sucked out of Hollywood. In fact, it has been sucked out so much that it has become a talent to be untalented. As Paris Hilton keeps proving every day.

Now you are probably reading this and either thinking, "what a fucktard" or "wow, he's right". If I were you, I'd pick choice b), because wow, I am right. Because, if I were famous, I would not be another Paris Hilton or Tommy Lee, because that is not making a different in this world. So maybe there are alot of you out there thinking, yeah, that's true too. So then you're like me. So then you could be me, right? And that answered my question.