Oh. Hi. Right. Like so many times before, I shouldn't actually be doing this right now. I should be lying in bed in my pyjamas wandering off to dreamland to the tunes of sad Swedish pop rock bands by about an hour ago. Otherwise I'm gonna be a wandering zombie going to work tomorrow morning. But I feel like today was a bit of an achievement, and I did say I was gonna follow up somehow to the whole situation with my suspected ADD/ADHD condition. God, suddenly I wish nobody will be reading this. I haven't even been very frequent on the blog. I've started another blog, revived a visual novel project and drafted out it's whole plot since I was last frequent in the Jar. I've even had time to work at my new job for over a month now. It's awesome, by the way. The thing is though, I have been writing. I have been writing like fucking crazy since I started working. I have time to write on the train, all of a sudden. It's like having tiny writing workshops with yourself every day on the way home from work. Anyway, I haven't written much of any creative value; it's all just been venting my frustrations into an analog notebook and none of it is ever meant to be read by anyone. It's not like this blog. I feel safe writing here, but there are always limits to how exposing I dare to be, no matter who did or didn't visit this blog for the past six months or whatever. Hell, even just a while back now, I discovered I hadn't written on this blog for over a year, and I thought it had been like, two months, tops. Sometimes I'm good with math, and sometimes I'm completely oblivious.
I can sense your awareness that I am stalling. And yeah, you're right. So, to the point.
About two weeks ago, I found out that instead of going through the general healthcare, you can call directly to the psychiatric ward of the hospital and thereby submit yourself for treatment, or something along those lines. I'm not sure how to explain all this in English. Then the doctors and psychiatrists and whatever look over the notes from the phone call and then they decide whether they should call you in, or if this is an issue worth adressing, or whatever. So today I finally gave them a call, a week after I saved the phone number in my contact book. It took fortyfive minutes to talk the nurse, she was really nice and sweet though. So now I have to wait until they go over my notes and wait for them to call me in. Hopefully they will, and then maybe I can finally move on with my life in the right direction.
Anyway, that's pretty much everything I had to spill, unless you will allow me to, briefly, elaborate on an idea that I actually did make something creative out of, or at least, I'm planning to do so, soon. I'm writing on a story that I'm dedicating solely to the small online magazine SPARV, who has published my stories in each of their issues thus far (Visionären in Summer 2013 & Ornamentexpressen in Winter 2013/2014), a support I truly appreciate in an otherwise narrowminded and outdated publishing industry. Editor of the magazine and the creator of the writing tip site Författartips, Christian Wåhlander, recently announced they will be accepting entries for an autumn issue. I already had a vague idea of a short story and I decided I'd write it out fully fledged and not submit the story to any other magazine or publication than SPARV for the forementioned autumn issue. It'll essentially be a surreal drama, with sci-fi element, and account for what might happen when an ordinary man discovers electrical panels and robotic reinforcements in his body.
Sleep tight now, I'm off to dreamland where I'll always belong.
POET IN THE ALIAS-GENERATING JAR
