Predisone and a Possible Insanity Defense.

Day four on the drug predisone and I'm about as wired as a billy goat at a Madri Gras parade.  Stuff really helps the inflammation, but it makes me crazy.. er. CraziER.   The only thing that has helped calm me today is David Bowie. I mean, David Bowie isn't in my house or anything, but his music is, and that's the next best thing.  Ziggy Stardust, I love you. From goats to David Bowie.

See? My train of thought when I am on predisone runs down alleys I didn't even know existed. One second I'm pondering the concept of destiny and the complete absurdity of the philosophy, and the next I am meandering somewhere behind Door Number Two where I am completely slayed by the song "Come on, Eileen" by the Dexys and contemplating the ramifications of the song lyrics on early 1980s societal evolution. Everything ends up back to music or literature.

Speaking of books, have you read Bill Bryson's, "The Short History of Everything"? Don't. It'll fuck you up. I mean, yes, you should read it because it's such a good book, but no, you shouldn't read it because it causes 1970s drug flashback-like symptoms. I have been attempting to finish this book for two months now. I read four pages, I think, "Whoaaaaa, man", and then I have to put the book down and spend a week sorting out what I have read in those four pages. Then I'm ready to delve back in, and it starts all over again.  At this rate I'll finish this damned book when I am 82 (and I am a very fast reader) and drooling on myself in a state nursing home. It is one thick ass book. As an added bonus, the book is starting to cause me to experience some love/hate deep seated feelings towards Bill Bryson. I fairly chortled (sorry.. phrase I am been trying to work into a piece of writing for three years.. "fairly chortled". Sounds rather impressive and oh, so British, don't you think?) ) at his "A Walk in the Woods",  I laughed out loud at his "The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid", I cringed and then laughed at his "The Lost Continent: Travels in Small Town America", but this book, this one is breaking my brain.  Literally. I hate Bill Bryson for breaking my brain. I love Bill Bryson because his writing makes me jealous as hell.

 Thank goodness I am reading two other books in addition to the Bryson book: Kurt Vonnegut: Letters and The Twelve by Justin Cronin. I got to have my post apocalyptic book fix thrown in there somewhere  When the world ends, if it be by virus, flesh eating zombies, or nuclear war I am ready to tackle the situation. I may not survive, but I have at least pondered the possibility of the varying ways in which society can ultimately destroy itself and I have actually made a plan for each scenario . I don't know if the plans are any good or not, but... Hey, at least I'm PREPARED! Are you? 

I didn't think so.

Now back to that billy goat at a Mardi Gras parade... what was I saying? Oh yeah, predisone.