My Cardboard Balcony

Screw You, Stimuli by Belinda Roddie When I was juvenile and heard a song that gave me goosebumps for the first time, I wasn't aware of how my soul reacted at first. The music connected itself to my shoulders like a raw harness, then shot my arms up into the air like whipping streamers, and it was only when my sister asked, "Why are you doing 'spirit fingers' right now?" that I realized that I had a current in me that wasn't willing to be switched off, or unplugged, or powered down. Stimming doesn't just belong to one group of people: It's for those on the spectrum, but also for those with anxiety disorders: Tourette's kneejerk response, OCD's clamoring symphony, ADHD's hit radio show where all the sound effects are on point. For me, it's losing control of my hands - when I'm excited, when I'm scared, when a tune is just super stimulating to my poor skull. The biceps tense, sorry digits creeping to...

Joseph wanted to become a paramedic, but he could never pass the fitness test. And trust me, he tried everything - diets, shakes, daily trips to the gym. Pumping iron, running on the elliptical machine, even learning how to kickbox. But no matter how hard he tried, his arms had the consistency of penne pasta. "You're just a wimp," his girlfriend said to him when he moped about it one night. She soon became his ex-girlfriend after that.

And that, ladies and gents, is why you don’t press the big red button. See, and Earth was so nice, too. Now we've got...what, ruined cities? Craters? Radioactivity everywhere? I give us twenty hours, tops, before we succumb. Now, before I finish my powerpoint presentation on not being stupid and causing a nuclear holocaust, I'd like to thank Holly for bringing us snacks with healthy alternatives - you know, in case our diets actually meant something anymore. Also, I have always wanted to tell her this, but Holly is dead sexy. I'm serious. Just, like...smoking hot. Okay? I mean, I don't know if she swings that way, but this lady in a suit would love to take a lady in a dress back to her office for a "private meeting." Only if she's cool with it, of course! I strongly believe in consent. Hey, where is Holly, anyway? Roger, could you go check to see how she's doing? I know she has an anxiety disorder, and this chain of events since the start of World ...

I knew I shouldn't drink the entire bottle of red wine that my mother bought for me in one sitting, and I knew I shouldn't eat all the chocolates my boyfriend got me in one sitting, either. But I was definitely tempted. I staved off the urges by having my roommate hide the wine and candy somewhere I couldn't find them. And boy, did he nail the hiding spot perfectly. "Yeah," I laughed as he handed me the goods a few days later, "I wouldn't touch your underwear drawer with a ten foot pole."

You guys. Just...you guys. This week turned out okay. It wasn't great, but it wasn't terrible. Stuff got done. Happy times were had. Stressful times were had. That's life for ya. But guys. I am so tired. I mean, I am drained. I have spilled so many of my guts out that it's like I'm trailing ribbons behind me. I am sapped. Fatigued. Just...plum tuckered out, y'know? I have no energy for ranting. No strength for any stupid sob stories or self-pity sessions. Nothing like that. I just need to take this weekend and relax. Relaxation sounds amazing right now. Hell, sleep sounds amazing right now. Like, it's not even ten o'clock yet, and I'm ready to collapse. I'll go to the gym and meet with my parents for dinner on Saturday. Then I'll help out a friend on Sunday and see if anyone else wants to hang out. I'll do as much grading as I can. It's just...I gotta rest, people. Let's hope when I'm rejuvenated, the intro...