the ornithogrinarium - Ψυχῆς ἰατρεῖον

Sunday, August 31, 2008

please excuse me this one

I'm consuming new prescribed psychotropic pharmaceuticals. New as in, new to me and as in next-generation. I try not to talk about this stuff too much to people in real life, it's alienating even if they're taking them too. I find the drugs difficult to tell apart except in the negative: I feel sleepy, rather than fatigued; new ones in general steal my appetite, therefore I remember to eat when I find I can't make a decision; I'm less impulsive, more ruminative; I heed the warning written materials and learn to ignore suicidality for the first several days. My sleep pattern may be normalizing. My muscles may be stiff from running. I may be feeling guilty and humiliated because it was. I may be calmer. I still can't take it back.


I'm not sure what to make of this - but I do know that I'm making a white dress along similar lines. I found a shirt with the lace for $11 in a vintage store, probably the steal of the year for me, and am reconstructing it.

via altporn and urone

Saturday, August 30, 2008

postcards from the edge

Walking down the street today made me want to scream. Groups of people walking four abreast and asian girls mimicking the slide-step of bound feet, all wandering back and forth erratically and always standing in the middle of whatever space is available. Inevitably, at this point, a child begins crying, which seems to me a perfectly sensible reaction.

mutual adoration society

I'm sitting with a cat here on the desk at eye level, his little head bowed. He's being cat sit, and I've been practicing cat courting techniques with him. The instructions appear to be working.

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

black mood, under water

It's raining so hard it feels like the water will never stop.

from russia with love

I'm hibernating.

via and

book autopsy

by Brian Dettmer via Beautiful and Depraved and baikuken

new shoes

I'm running. I need to start very slowly, to build new muscles because my knees are nearly sideways from bad synchro training. Even though yesterday was barely enough to get my heart rate up, it was enough to make me feel very good. I'm going to run in forests all winter long.

Monday, August 25, 2008

Sunday, August 24, 2008

in autumn a young lady's thoughts turn to

Boots. Horse hair boots that look so good on. Like spats. Like a version of the Grand National boots by John Fluevog I lusted afer at age sixteen, only better because not with 5 inch heels. Not scruffy at all in real life.

Saturday, August 23, 2008

chin school

Ever look at porn and notice something that makes you say, "oh.

.... oh.

Wait, that looks like...

fuck shit fuck shit no, no, no, delete delete fuck delete delete shit no no no no."



I went to the pet store and held a little orange and white cat in the palm of my hand. I like him a lot, he wiggles and spreads his paws out wide and has beautiful blue eyes with which he stares down my fingers and bites them. He's the perfect mix of playful and laid back. By the time I was walking home, I'd named him. Alas. Money is an issue, as are future living arrangements, which may be very difficult to negotiate with a small friend. So I signed up with the SPCA to foster a) healthy cats, b) cats with illness, c) cats with injury d) weaned kittens. I hope that they will let me take care of one. I've got a lot of love to give a kitty with no home.

Thursday, August 21, 2008

all that i can't leave behind

I'm cold and hard. Icy. Don't bother knocking, the icicles atop my hut may come crashing down like weaponry. You'd be taking your own chances, and with your chances as I've laid them out for you you won't bother.

Tuesday, August 19, 2008


My psychiatrist is breaking up with me. Come to think about it, it will have been about a year by the time we're done. (Minus vacations, hospitalizations, and the part where I thought he was lying about wanting to help in order to mock me.) A nurse had warned me at the outset.

Then he made me cry just to make sure I could, and said he'd check in with someone he knows at student health. I told him what is said about the people at student health, and how when our pathes last crossed I found them patronizing and unhelpful, but I'd best give it a shot, right. Now I feel like I've spent the whole day crying, when it took up less than thirty seconds of my time. Yippee, the new calming drugs are working!

if I were a rich girl

I could choose one. From Frye, dear benefactor.

Sunday, August 17, 2008

some people are impossible

My dad is the kind of guy who is a bit of a tool. He'll decide to "help" in the garden and pull up favourite plants. He'd give away favourite toys at garage sales. He'll think, whatever, and put it in the garbage, and honestly "not remember" doing it. He'll decide, the guy who barely graduated high school, for the first time ever when I'm 25, to start giving advice on how I should do my homework. Plus, he's clingy.

Not a happy way to consider masculinity. Further reading (for me) at

Catalina loves Masculinity


gabe @

Saturday, August 16, 2008


"For many years now, the central debate in American education has been over just how much schools can do to improve the low rate of achievement among poor children. While it is true that for decades the children of New Orleans toiled in a substandard school system, they have also continually faced countless other obstacles to success — inadequate health care, poorly educated parents, exposure to high rates of violent crime and a popular culture that often denigrates mainstream achievement. And though the hurricane washed away the school system, it didn’t wash away their other problems. In fact, for most children it compounded them with a whole new set of troubles: wrecked homes, frequent relocations, divided families, post-traumatic stress. Were public schools really the right vehicle to attack all of those problems?"


Friday, August 15, 2008


The city streets at night are heavy humid indigo, with cigarette smoke that tonight tastes like freedom. I'm tired, steeping in the ends of the day, blank, watching things go by my window on the train. It takes a long time to get home. I've been wearing sunglasses and when I get there the rooms are shades of black. I like it like this, dark, quiet; take plum granita out of the freezer and try to remember where I've put the vodka.

I've promised myself I'm going to cut out the drinking but the thing with refusing to pay for medications is that it's going to take a while for my exemption to regular coverage to come through. The new pills (a), may or not be less inclined to produce skin-crawling agitation like the current ones. Vodka is cheaper, and leads to less memory loss than benzodiazapines (b). I've never stayed awake for four days because I had a drink (previous round of a), or taken six times the prescribed dose to calm down (b). Ice crystals melt in the dish and dissolve on my tongue, and then I'm on the floor, stretching the muscles in my legs.

This way I'm not sitting hugging knees to my chest; flat. I'm not bipolar, the eventfulness is the work of the pills. I used to stretch like this nearly all the time. On tv the proliferation of synchronized Olympic sports bemuses me. I was a synchronized swimmer, and even as such found it a bizarre sport. I refused makeup and smiling, and swam solo; I liked the figures the other girls did only because they were required. I am well disciplined, except when I have reason not to be.

guppy love

Last night I brought a fish back from the edge. I scooped the fish back into the bowl in the palm of my hand to avoid reintroducting whatever nasty stuff was clouding the water. I turned a light on over them for health benefits and to keep them swimming, keep the water moving through their gills, flushing them out. Then I fed the skinny one like a baby bird, crumbling the food in front of its nose. I do worry when she can't seem to coordinate gulping to get food in her mouth. This morning they were doing allright. Enough dying, everyone, okay?

*abandoned nasty complex additives for the simpler ones. I've never had so much trouble with water quality.

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

lovely people

They're honest, articulate, and engaged, talking about what works for them. There's a close personal link here for me, though not to me specifically. I appreciate the discussion enormously.

Friday, August 8, 2008

the olympics have produced pretty commercials

About redemption. I'm working on a project that requires me to be intellectually engaged with advertising. I don't own any Nike shoes.

Similarly, I don't like anything about Minneapolis, where the agency Fallon Worldwide is located.

Wednesday, August 6, 2008

summer stories

Will Self blogs about a summer of walking.

Besides the two links above, he'll let you view his writing room.

Sunday, August 3, 2008

don't hate the player

The other day a doctor at the psych clinic asked if I felt numb. Some people are bothered by it, she said.

"I don't think so."


"I prefer this to having strong feelings. Which I did when I was really ill."

I realize that I've been discussing this topic with the Good Psychologist for quite a long time. "You're a gentle person," he says, and I comment on that being a lovely complement, looking at the room past his left shoulder. We briefly discuss how I felt about losing friendships with the person I trusted and leaned on too much, and the one I didn't, who I kept far enough away that she couldn't really hurt me. We're talking about how I can trust myself, possibly. So-called Motivation to Change.

He scribbles as he talks, giving ideas shape in a way that still eludes me as I read, speak, take notes, and talk about doing the same.

Thinking, just regular thinking, is profoundly shaped by emotional context. Arousal is plotted to anxiety on a bell curve. Too little or too much hurts; in the unperturbed state I strive for I fail to think logically. Try to turn it up with this medication and I'm agitated and can't sleep, with a consistency I've never before felt in my life.

I hate the game with pills.

Saturday, August 2, 2008


Today we had to consent to put the kitty down. He had a tumor in his bladder. The whole experience of doing this sort of thing is awful, and leaves guilt, knowing that he was hurting. I delivered final kisses and declarations of love and then left the room. I couldn't watch him die.

It helps that I am minding another cat for the time being, and that as I write this he is sitting in my lap, gazing at me adoringly and purring, giving up all kinds of affection. I pet him and he has a tiny little purr and when he has enough he bites me and runs off to sun himself on the back lawn.