Random Crap Day/Week Part III

For some bizarre reason, we must get at least three books about Synesthesia a week at the agency. Never heard of it? According to a wiggly red line, neither has Microsoft Word. Neither did I and I aced AP and college bio along with three psych classes, including abnormal and had several friends whose parents (in the plural! Including one guy psychologist parents wanted to be a neurologist!) until recently. Now I wish people stop telling me about it. Apparently it’s a weird and VERY RARE neurological disorder which manifests in what I can only call impossible, imaginary sensations. Not that it actually seems too bad. I mean, I have no interest in SMELLING purple, but unless purple smells like a hobo, I don’t see the problem. And yet these books uniformly spend lengthy portions of the query telling me about the disorder as if I hadn’t heard the song and dance a hundred times. Shit, I thought it was supposed to be rare. Where are these books coming from? Clearly everyone who knows anyone with this disorder has made a pact to write a book and send it to the agency I’m at. And the best part? They’re always “we must protect small synesthetic children from the bad reputations they receive from declaring that that the number 12 is very hot today.” I’m pretty sure no one is going to be like “You’re a liar and idiot.” And if someone does and that ruins a child’s life forever? Well, the truth hurts. Get over it. I mean, um. Buck up. You're not lying. You're just wrong. In all seriousness though,the synesthetic community has apparently already misappropriated the Giver by Lois Lowry the damn, dirty thieves. What more do you want? If you’re looking to make synesthesia a fad, I’d say mission successful. If it annoys me this much, it must be popular.


“Voltaire once said that God is always on the side of the larger army. God and I have many things in common.” General Jacob Gallbladder and the Art of War Book I: Tactics.


I think I may have accidentally discovered the secret identity of la rejectionista (no I won’t tell you) and convinced a friend that I’m a psychic at the same time. A winner is me. His name is Wilkin. When he asked me how I figured that out, as well as a couple of other things which he knew the answer about for sure and which I was merely speculating on but turned out to be correct, I told Wilkin that my deductions were elementary. And then I giggled like a schoolgirl.