Everything.

Where you don't really expect it is in data graphs. You'd think that data is data and the graph will honestly reflect that data. That's a graph's entire function... to clearly present data in a way you can easily and quickly grasp it.

Except we know that's not how it goes...

Yes, it's a valid crash-out.

Jenny is a dangler.

She loves hanging off of any surface she can fit on, and does so all the time. And some of the time when they're particularly impressive, I will snap a photo... and I've accumulated quite a collection over the years.

This past week I found a Facebook group called THIS CAT HAS D A N G L Y A R M B S. Which is a group devoted to cats like Jenny. And so I joined and started posting my photos there because images like these needs to be seen. I mean...

It's the blerpy tongue that makes it...

So many dangles...

But her favorite place to dangle is the catio. These two photos are months apart, but you can see that the dangle is the same, but the background has changed...

And these are too...

Now all I need is a catspreading group, and Jake will have a place for me to post in as well.

I'm about as exhausted as I can get after a week of trying to juggle all the balls I have in the air, but I'm not passing on the bullets... because an all new Bullet Sunday starts...now...

   
• My Room! Olivia Rodrigo was the host of Saturday Night Live last night, and had this hilariously awesome sketch...

As if that weren't enough, the track is a banger!

   
• Spider-Noir! It's not just because I'm a huge Nicholas Cage fan and he's perfect for the role... it's because this actually looks like it's going to make use of his talents in all the right ways...

I'll be watching it first in black &' white, then probably again in color if it's awesome. Which I'm expecting it will be.

   
• Best Friends! Somebody commented that this video is the opposite of toxic masculinity, and that seems apt...

There's an entire Instagram channel devoted to this, if you need a mood boost.

   
• Grapes! No, I'm not finished with watching animals eating stuff videos...

And can you really blame me?

   
• Yuii Chan Draws! This is remarkable...

It's like she has the entire thing in her head and is just tracing out what's already there. That's talent.

   
• Deadly Crystals! This is utterly fascinating. And a little scary. There's science happening, but they take great care to explain it in a way most people can understand...

Polymorphs be terrifying, yo.

   
• We're Out Of The Salmon! Tell me you've never worked in a restaurant without telling me you've never worked in a restaurant...

Amazing how Biden was the target of a gajillion 86-46 memes, where it apparently wasn't some kind of "mob term." And a simple Google search shows that the president himself re-posted far worse. And then there's this...

Funny that. Or fucking disgusting. You be the judge.

   
And now? Back to being exhausted. In more ways that one.

I was quite young when I realized my "mind's eye" is blind.

Unlike the majority of people who can "see" stuff in their head, I do not. When I try to close my eyes and envision a red apple, I see only darkness. The closest I can get is to think about a red apple and describe it's attributes to myself while seeing absolutely nothing.

This condition is called "aphantasia."

And if you're wondering what I'm talking about, then there's a test you can take to understand it a bit. My answer to every one of the questions is the first one: No image at all, I only know I am thinking of the object. Coupled with this is also a condition called "Severely Deficient Autobiographical Memory" (SDAM). This means that not only can I not envision things in my mind's eye... I also cannot re-experience past events.

An example of SDAM is me thinking back to when I was in Rome and staying at a hotel at the top of the Spanish Steps. I remember trudging up the stairs with a gelato cone. I can remember what the texture and color of the steps were. I can remember the buildings and the people. I haven't forgotten a thing. But when I close my eyes and try to re-live the experience, there's nothing there...

And so... now you know why I take hundreds of pictures whenever I travel somewhere. It's the only way I can visually re-experience what I experienced is to look at the images and videos.

Since I've had this condition since birth (or so I'm guessing), I don't know what I'm missing. I've never experienced it. But I am extremely jealous of people who can. I would love to be able to close my eyes and see my mom's face. Or the places I've been.

Between all this and my mild dyslexia, I'm assuming that my brain damage makes my life a bit less fun than most people's.

This also extends to how I dream.

In that I don't. I'm never having these vivid dreams where I'm flying... or walking on Mars... or whatever. It's always the same. When I'm "dreaming" it's like I'm sitting in front of a screen where I'm "drawing" the objects by description. I'm not actually seeing anything in my head. Which is not much fun at all.

But anyway...

The reason all this popped into my head just now is that J. Craig Venter died.

He's the genius geneticist who was the first to decode a bacteria genome, which lead to a genetics renaissance which culminated in decoding the human genome.

He also had aphantasia...

Rest in Peace, sir.

NEWSFLASH: RFK Jr. plans to curb antidepressants, which he falsely compares to heroin.

I've had crippling anxiety since I was 17. I know the age because I can remember the first anxiety-fueled attack I had with crystal clarity. Couldn't breathe. Felt like I was dying. Didn't know what was happening. Couldn't put a coherent thought together. At the time I thought I was having a heart attack. Everything was dialed to 11 and I was in quite a lot of pain.

Not knowing what was happening, mom took me to the doctor. We were told that it was a "panic attack" and I would be fine once I calmed down. Which I did. But I was still so rattled the next day that I still didn't feel like myself. The best word I can think of to describe my condition is... scrambled.

I have no idea what triggered the attack. Whatever it was probably disappeared as I was trying to deal with it all.

A couple times a year I'd get hit again, but it was never as intense as the first time. Probably because I understood what was happening to me. Though it could still get pretty bad. It's called crippling anxiety for a reason. It incapacitates you and you literally can't function.

Eventually I visited Thailand and looked to make some changes in my life. I started meditating, and that allowed me to manage my anxiety fairly well. I did have to run to initial care a couple times over the years for help, but I was never put on any medication.

Until I was.

Caring for a parent with dementia drove up my anxiety levels every single day, and it just kept getting worse and worse and worse. Far worse than it ever had been. No amount of meditation would touch it. And the fact that I was being incapacitated meant I couldn't care for my mom... let alone myself. Which probably made things even worse.

And so... my doctor ran me through the SSRI gauntlet, where you keep trying different options until something works. Or at least makes life with anxiety manageable. And we hit it on the third try.

I stayed on the pills until three or four months after my mom passed, when I slowly started to get my life back together and go back to meditating to control my stress and anxiety. It wasn't a cold-turkey halting of the drugs. It was a medically-controlled tapering off so that the side-effects don't get too awful. And, despite the FUCKING BULLSHIT NONSENSE BEING VOMITED OUT OF RFK JR.'S STUPID, IGNORANT, ANTI-SCIENCE, PIECE OF SHIT FUCKING ASSHOLE... it wasn't harder than "quitting heroin." Or, if it was, quitting heroin must be a fucking cake-walk, because it was no problem at all. My doctor gave me a schedule and advised me how to do it safely and, after a while, I was done. Back to practicing my meditation.

And then, seven years later, I was at work trying to deal with too much and there it was... an anxiety attack so bad that I was in my car thinking I was dying. All my muscles were so tight that I thought I was going to pass out from the pain. I was jumping out of my skin. My hands and feet were frozen and my fingers were bent back, leaving me clawing at my chest. I would have started screaming, but I couldn't breathe. I don't think that I passed out, but maybe I did. I honestly don't remember.

I didn't mess around. The minute I was able to pick up my phone and dial, I was calling for an emergency appointment with my doctor. YOU KNOW, THE ONLY PERSON QUALIFIED TO GIVE ME FUCKING MEDICAL ADVICE.

Given the severity of the attack, it was decided I would try some milder doses of SSRIs to see if that would allow me to get back to being able to function again.

It did not.

I was spiraling so often so quickly that I went right back to the drug which worked the best for me the first time. From there I worked myself from one pill to three per night. But slowly. Because the side-effects are horrible. Mostly revolving around explosive diarrhea from morning to night... and sometimes in the middle of the night.

Eventually things evened out. And my life started to feel like my own again. Which is to say that my life started to feel like most everybody else's does. Which is to say that any anxiety I'm experiencing is manageable. I don't get so overwhelmed that I can no longer function and am trying to scream while struggling to breathe.

After five or so months when things started to normalize for me, I worked my way down from three pills to two. Two pills to one. And then I was going to go back to zero when I decided that I just didn't fucking want to. I'm old enough now that I simply do not want to spend any more of what little time I have left struggling with my anxiety. I'm done with it. So I met with my doctor and explained where my head was at. He was happy that I had taken the initiative to reduce from three pills to one pill safely (I'd been through it before), and agreed with my reasoning. His training led him to believe I was better off where I was at, so he supported my decision. Medically.

And so...

Every night I take a small yellowish-peachy pill called Paxil.

Then I thank God that Paxil exists and my doctor exists so I can have a normal life that's not being ruled by something I can't control. With that pill I can manage. I can cope. I can be me. And I don't have to live in terror of an anxiety attack appearing out of nowhere and sending my life spiraling...

So fuck RFK Jr. and his stupid ignorant shit. Fuck him sideways.

I have no doubt that there are doctors who over-prescribe. I have no doubt that there are people who are abusing SSRIs. And, yeah, addressing that is probably a good idea. But for RFK Jr. to feel that he gets to overrule my doctor and unilaterally purge/reduce SSRIs for whatever stupid-ass reason (RFK Jr. being somebody who, I'll remind you, has no fucking training for this shit)... well, he can go fuck himself.

I am not going back to where I was when there's a perfectly suitable, perfectly safe, medically-sound, scientifically-studied solution available to me.

And some fascist junkie asshole with no medical training and not a lick of sense in his fucking brain-worm-riddled head has any fucking business telling me otherwise.