Sharing a lil bit…
I’m reading about Garcia and Koelling in my psych text today. Don’t know who they are, lemme fill you in. Garcia and Koelling did experiments on lab rats with radiation. They irradiated plastic water bottles which the rats, being rats, drank out of and got radiation poisoning. One day they noticed something new…”HOLY SHIT, KOELLING THE RATS AREN’T DRINKING FROM THOSE BOTTLES ANYMORE”. Despite further efforts to get the rats to drink from the irradiated plastic bottles, the rats refused. This goes down in history as proving two things. One, that rats are smarter than we give them credit for, and two Garcia and Koelling are assholes. Your history and psych lesson has been brought to you by the number 1, and the letter “Asshole”.
Seriously though, my psych test is full of this stuff, testing on rats, testing on pigeons. Here’s a clue, if you don’t want to do it yourself, an animal doesn’t want to do it either! Sure, they might go for the whole, push the button, get a piece of food, thing but stick a bottle of toxins in their face and their only going to do it once…a dog probably wouldn’t do it at all, they’re smart like that. Ok, so my dog isn’t smart, but still, fool him once shame on you, fool him twice, he’ll bite your ass!
Really, getting back to the subject at hand, I hate the use of animals in labs. Why can’t researchers use the Bush family instead? I’d love to see G.W. lapping up some toxic water. Was that politically incorrect? I can never tell anymore. I was gonna use a reference to illegal immigrants…wait I think I will. We could irradiate the river that they swim across to get here, and study those effects.
Now I’ve gone too far, I apologize. Am I sincere? Probably not, but I had to put it out there
So I’m looking at themes for my new blog and I see on the side “dark colors”. Yeah, dark colors, now there’s a concept. If you could look inside my mind, that’s all you could see, dark colors with sudden bursts of color intertwined. All my life I’ve been different, never fitting in, even with the outcasts. I mean, I have friends, but something about me, especially lately, has always kept them at arm’s length. Picture me on one side of a chasm, and my friends on the other, and the rope bridge between us has been cut. I wave with one hand, while the other holds a knife behind my back, wisps of rope hanging from it. I’m not any more or less depressed than I ever was, I just find myself wanting to be alone in my own world more than usual. Things that used to amuse me, no longer hold their charm, and I feel myself once again being pulled toward the darkness that I so recently crawled out of. It seems to reach out to me, and how I yearn for it, and yet part of me sees the progress I have made in just a few short months, and resists it. I know how that darkness feels, safe, and comforting, where the sharp points of other people’s feelings can’t poke at me, and make me feel. For years, I thought that was who I was, never wearing bright colors, cloaking myself in the one color that has come to mean safety to me. Not safe from physical harm, I’ve never been that deluded by my illness to think that, like others I know have. But safe from those intruding outside emotions that poke and prod, and make me feel, make my soul bleed for them. That darkness is so tempting, all I have to do is give in, I’m halfway there already. And yet, I haven’t given in yet…which has me wondering why. What is so different now than there was before? When I figure out the answer to that, I may not ever sucum to the darkness again.
