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Ever since I stumbled upon a website on the 'net a few months ago that said that the chemical Lithium is used in the treatment and prevention of episodes of mania in people with bipolar disorder which is otherwise known as the manic depressive disorder, and which manifests itself in episodes of depression, mania, as well as other abnormal moods. Apparently, Lithium falls under the class of medicines known as anti-manic agents, whose function is to lessen abnormal activity in the brain.
I could just as easily have quoted that, but 'I hate quotes.', and honestly, nothing kills the impact of an intro (especially an intro after a hiatus of more than a year) more than beginning and ending your sentences with " ". I also find it a priceless coincidence that the first part of my blog is actually a word which I originally derived from the word 'Lithium', which I altered only later on when I felt the meaning of the word 'Lithesome' would be more apt. Not that i'm implying anything, mind you, and not that I was considering using the Insanity Plea as a defense should the incident which happened to Qs and I last Sunday would've come to that point. I just find it rich that the chemical I practically chose to name my blog after is actually a medicine for depression, of all things. Anger and indignation, I can't deny that much of my life, much of the actions, the words, the thoughts, and the circumstances surrounding my life, are colored by these feelings, and to be perfectly honest I don't even know why this is so, or why this should be since I, for up to a few years ago, until my family lost much of its wealth to circumstances too long winded and tedious to relate, have never wanted for anything materially, though I say this not to boast but just to stress on how malapropos the anger and indignation I seeth with is. All I know is that i've always been sensitized to justice, and repulsed by what I deem isn't. And inspite of the changes my life has undergone over the years, this wasn't one of the things to change, if anything, things are worse for me on that front. Which brings me to the question of why I am even writing this... why do I have to struggle with hasty words when I had a piece which I am suppose to be releasing already written, albeit reluctantly, in my leather bound journal? Why, when I let slip away the issue of cheating during the 2004 elections which I could just as easily have allowed to prod me into a rage? Why, when I let pass the sight of seeing two little girls selling sampagitas one Saturday night when Qs and I were approaching National Bookstore studying and actually memorizing the parts of the human body from the biology posters displayed on the window. Why, when I didn't say a word about Qs and I getting into a fight with three men who usurped the taxi which we had been waiting for for more than an hour, and which would've ended up with me using the Insanity Plea in the courtroom (at best), given the potency of my anger, if Qs hadn't used his senses and had my safety in mind. It is, after all, infinitely easier to give in to using brute force, than to consider first and foremost, even in the all encompassing heat of anger, the well-being of the one with you, something which I have yet to learn. Why, when for all these months, i've kept silent and let all those instances which are as worthy of anger and indignation as anything i've beheld in my life pass me by.
The answer to that, at least, I know... I know very well what provoked me, what brought forth this outpouring of words, what I don't know is to where it will lead me. When we where on our way to work today, I saw this, a young girl carrying a naked infant around in the pouring rain, with scarce regard for the fact that he was soaked, probably freezing, and most likely to end up with a fever, and knowing intuitively that she couldn't care less about the child because she probably had no relation to him, he was just a useful prop which would make of the two of them a more pitiful picture, thereby increasing their chances of getting alms. It was like having a bucket of icy water thrown right at my face, and this time there were no suppressing the feelings of anger and indignation, the hatred of injustice in all its forms which stuck like bile to the back of my throat. I was brought back once again to that time, fourteen years ago, when a little girl of twelve years old was hurling curses and yelling, without a thought to her own safety, at the corrupt agents of the CIS who were bribed to raid her family's property, and harrass her parents, while they grabbed her, and attempted to search her, as her pet dog, Brandy, sought to defend her, even as they shoved her away. For no apparent reason, other than the anger and the indignance which it aroused, seeing the little girl and the child this morning, stirred a memory which I don't often revisit, yet which when I do I find reflects my character so completely. The fool, the idiot who, when pushed to enough anger would walk up to anyone who perceives himself to be the devil and laugh in his face, the moron who has not learned the meaning of fear. The pent up writer who beat out the programmer for the right to be the one to blog in their first round. The dreamer, whose unquenchable thirst for justice, she knows might never really be assuaged, and all the same can't bring herself to wish that it would be otherwise.
Please check back again at a later time, as the programmer and the writer are still battling it out as we speak. The victor will be the one whose voice speaks to you through this blog, or not *tantalizing grin*... - niz
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