Lost Focus Found; Re-Lost


So. Ever since I wrote yesterday’s bloggie posting here to Webberville, my brain has been fritzed. That is to say my ADHD has been more vigilant than a pack of Arizona Tee-baggers at a Mariachi concert.

Yesterday’s writings were to be an admission of culpability on my part, one of the continuing admissions deemed to be so very fucking important to my psycho therapist. While admitting to you just HOW crazy I am, the same ADHD that MAKES me so crazy interrupted my brain waves, stole the signal and reprogrammed the broadcast. Somehow I managed to mangle a confession and transform it into a sexing story. Go figure.

Net results: the following conversation with Dr. Sam I. Am-Johnson. “Mooner, you mis-fortunate and delusional lunatic. Your confessions are not worth the paper they are printed on if you can’t clearly state them.”

“Don’t you mean ‘unfortunate’?” I asked her.

“Don’t pick nits with me, buster. You know exactly what I mean.”

An opening, two, three and four… “Well, I certainly know that you ARE mean.”

Well done, Mooner my man. It helps to stay on my toes during therapy sessions.

My psycho therapist and first of ten ex-wives gives me her best “you’re a crazy fuckball and I’m not” look, the she laughs and shakes her head. “Not this time, nutball, you will not get me off task. You had an assignment and you didn’t follow through.”

My mind somehow managed to get stuck in a multi-voiced argument about why she gave me the “fuckball” look, but called me a “nutball”. I don’t think she’s ever called me a nutball and it was disconcerting.

“What the hell do you mean by nutball? I know what a fuckball is and I freely admit to being one.” Maybe I should admit to having it.

“Or maybe I have it, you know maybe I suffer from fuckballism,” I added for emphasis. Oh for shitsakes, would it be fuckballella, like salmonella?

“Oh for god sakes, Mooner, would you please focus. You’re scatterbrained this afternoon.”

OK, so first, “Well fucking duh!” Then I added, “It’s you that’s distracting me. Is nutball a clinical term or was it a mistake you calling me that?”

“The only mistake I ever made in your therapy my dear ex-husband, was in agreeing to treat you in the first place. And don’t you dare try to tell me that you have made it worth my time.”

I was winding up a discourse on everything I have done for her when she interrupted the process with, “Mooner, look at me. Look into my eyes.”

I did. She’s got these dreamy brown eyes of dark and milk chocolate swirls. “I’ll get a boner and then go all distracted again,” I told her. “I’ll just stare at the Salvador Dali print you bought with my money and hung where I have to look at it every session.”

Dali is my favorite artist.

Anyway, yesterday I was going to admit that I am certifiably crazy, a nutcase of heroic proportions. I do that now and with free will. (of free will?) I simply cannot remember why with any precisions or specificities.

I will, however, say this. I would far rather be me than be Rick Perry. So I say to you, “Drink Carta Blanca beer, and FUCK RICK PERRY!!!”

Manana, y’all.

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5 Responses to “Lost Focus Found; Re-Lost”

  1. Whitney says:


    You have the greatest metaphors.


  2. Squato says:

    I’d tell you you were a crazy mo’ fo’, but you already know that. Pickin’ nits, eh? Nice!!!

  3. admin says:

    Thanks, Whit. And I really dig the shadow of your simile. You been writing?

  4. admin says:

    Squat. I have a nifty collection of nits from countries around the globe.

  5. LV Handbag says:

    that is an interesting article man, good work….

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