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Good morning sunshine. Got a good night’s sleep, just back from walking the dog, and the paperboy forgot our Sunday edition. Where’s the gun?

Speaking of suicide, I wonder how many would be avoided if they slept on it first? Of course, not the ones who took sleeping pills, as they tend to skew the data.

This, too, shall pass. Four words strung together that, if I could truly honor their meaning, would improve by coping abilities by about 50% percent overnight.

Look – I want everything in an instant: instant unconformability, instant anger. Instant exit-runner. I want my chemical change now.

I’m a Type A personality with a Type B idealism. My metabolism is through the roof. I will never be mellow, no matter how many depressants I shove it down my hole.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t be calm while my brain is going 100 mph. It’s the fact that I’m judging my brain at 100 mph as a very bad thing that’s the problem. The arrogance of intelligence; wishing that if only I were like the dumb people, then maybe I wouldn’t be an alcoholic. But I’m different, better.

Special.

And as long as I go hunting for the differences, I’ll never be at peace.

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