Image by Markéta Boušková from Pixabay
Good day or whatever. Let's jump right into it.
Today's April PAD Challenge prompt asks participants to write an animal poem.
Have you ever heard someone wonder what future archaeologists, whether human or from alien civilization, will make of us? Today, I’d like to challenge you to answer that question in poetic form, exploring a particular object or place from the point of view of some far-off, future scientist.
I didn't write a poem about a literal animal. I postulated about what scientists from a far-off world who come to study the dying Earth might think about all the pills we took to combat our mental health problems. The title of my poem is A Beast Called Anxiety.
For the record, I don't take any psych meds. Not because I don't have psychological issues. I clearly have those aplenty. Not because I think myself superior to people who do take psych meds. I don't take them for one simple reason. For me, the "cure" is worse than the problem. My body doesn't tolerate them.
Here is a nifty resource that I use to come up with things like alien scientist and fantasy planet names. It's a real lifesaver.
That's about all for now. I'm still dealing with a mess surrounding my thyroid medication and miscommunication. The guy that's potentially supposed to replace our furnace hasn't called me back either. I'm trying not to let the beast Anxiety defeat me.
From my current vantage point, I think Anxiety is probably the worst of my psychological problems. It fuels Depression because it makes me feel like a fuckup. I wonder what I could have been without anxiety, but sometimes I fear I might have been really shallow and vain because of my insecurity about my physical appearance. It's pretty much a no-win situation.
~Ornery Owl Has Spoken~
Image by Loyloy Thal from Pixabay
I was listening to this hard-hitting Krautrock by Gomorrha while creating this post.
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