hold the door mr. phillipshead

Hold the Door Mr. Phillipshead

6/ 27/ 14

I have been moved to the head of my class. Not for embodying scholarship or to exhibit proper conduct for the edification of my peers. I have been moved to the head of the class so I don't lose sight of the teacher or lose touch with the lecture; I have been moved so I can make it through lunch before logging-out for the day and hopefully soon to make it clear to dinner without kaputzing completely.

"Attention, class. I am moving Jona . . . Jocelyn Quinn, send one more text and I swear that thing's mine . . . I am moving Jonathan . . . what do you mean which Jonathan? . . . you know as well as I do that that Jonathan has been relocated for exhibiting improper conduct . . . Class, just shut up! Shut your lips and listen, Jonathan . . . this Jonathan . . . I'll tell you what, Mr. Phillipshead, why don't you go impress Mrs. Boysenberry with your little routine . . . now, if everyone is ready . . .  Mr. Scott is coming up here.

He hasn't done anything wrong, he just needs a little . . . Jocelyn Quinn! Put it. . . put it right here in my hand . . . what do you mean put what? . . . hold the door Mr. Phillipshead . . . "

They've put me on Ritalin. I went to the doctor on Monday to have some blood drawn and give a urine sample; they got all the blood they could hope for and could've hoped more; what they did not get was the memo.

Re:  FYI Jonathan H Scott DOB 12-14-75, cannot pee on demand, not one drop.

Readers, F-your-I, they don't really need your urine so much as they would appreciate it; besides, they give credit for effort -- especially on pop-quizzes.

Anyway . . . Ritalin. They've added Ritalin to my pharmaceutical cornucopia, my horn of that's a'plenty, thanks. In the doc's office I wasn't grasping just why, for all I know, they just wanted to put a cork in my cask of complaints; it seemed counter intuitive for all I knew . . .
about . . . about . . .

Ritalin. Right! For 1, I have a hard time staying focused in the morning when I do most of my "work". And B of all, I have a hard time concentrating on the task at hand when there's another task tomorrow and the one I just forgot. For 3, I have a hard time sleeping at night -- all the thoughts . . . glioblastoma, eggs for breakfast, fried no scrambled no a banana, what for tomorrow's journal? urine sample indeed! Missed the memo, memorandum remember random, scrambled no randomized eggs, but fried, over medium no easy, just take 'er easy man, like Sunday mawnin', ooh I said eeezay, eassah like Sunday mawnin’ you should go to church, yeah and wear your purple suit, purple, two nude Ps reposing on an ur carpet . . . probably needing

. . . to pee. Great! Juhhst great! Yogurt, was it?

They put me on Ritalin. I'll give it  a go. Another pill for my AM case. What could it hurt that ain't already? My liver? The likelihood of operating heavy machinery? Besides, it's in the cards, a done deal from when deals like this were done. Spectacular. Oracular. The pills are purple.

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[Here is a poem I wrote over 7000 pills ago.]

℞

An epitome of the false
Dichotomy: blessing or curse,
For good or for ill—
My anxiety and its pharmacy
Of combatants.

On one hand are the tunnel walls
Withstanding the terrific
Sea, the sand, and careless whales;
On another are the bland
Visions of a dimwit.

The crystal in the window,
Once prismatic and slinging
Spectra the whole kitchen over--
Now mud-washed, flings ho-hum
Shadows on sheet-rock.

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