Sugar Rush (Entangled Bliss)
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Is he real? Is he just a lie I make for myself? Chauntelle Laflen Apr The vines are a'creeping Up and around While green grass is growing To cover the ground, And the leaves are so breathy- just whispering sound, As the wind floats on through them, Casting shadows around Over hill, cross the field, I can hear the call Of the cold giving way As the plants grow tall And as I age too I look and feel small Like a walkway of mem'ries Photos on the wall, Telling my story Wending it's way round I feel rooted, Attached to the ground.
What was is not what is, And life is no game; Life goes on, But am I the same? Or just like the seasons, Do I flex and I flux? Will I answer my questions, Or do I question too much? Existing outside of this existentialist ruse, I sit and I ponder, I think and I muse. The wind answers nothing, Nature's secrets to keep, As I sit and I struggle With a feeling lodged deep Of confusion and progress And confliction eternal Between Summer and winter Autumnal and vernal.
The flowers that bloom Near my feet seem to nod, No heaven to answer to, No devil, no God; No one to tell them What they must be, No decision to make, Thus, blissfully free. Bobbing and swaying They bend in the breeze A humble display of might Born through ease, A pillar of strength Upon bended knees. So too shall I be For my confusion is gone; I shall bend with my troubles yet be as strong As the mountain I climb, As the rock I sit on. I shall fly in the sky, Yet remember to land; I will open my mind And keep my plans.
Nice to meet you! Robert van Lingen Feb 4. Shall I paint you a picture? With my pen and paper I may yet sing you a song, With these scrolls I scribe, away to see my each and every perspective, prospective to today's little happenings, blissfully ignorant to what happened just a few seconds ago. You see, My words are the arts, You paint with your heart.
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Bo Tansky Dec No, no way who said that What could be better Better than not knowing? Especially if the knowing Is not what you want to know. But, wait What if the knowing is? Do you know what I mean? Because if I look And I die Then what? Will you even care? Robert van Lingen May 3. A mind runs free. Gleefully prancing through the pastures of crippled thought. Thought to have been here all along, Along the thoughtstrings of my restless mentality, Written within the pages of a book held dear.
A heart flies, Dreaming of the dreams in which my soul runs free. Jealously imprisoned, Surrounded by it's falsities. The grasses on which I feed, Are made of my naivities. Nutritious only in thought, Scarcely getting me by. Scraping away at every crumb. The mind runs free. Shackled, Blissfully unaware of its imprisonment. Dreaming of peace, Unaware of its fleeting nature. Wickedly addicted to the sensation. The brevity, Of being free. Despite having never been at all. To write these lines. My endless ramblings. Mary Frances Aug My Moon. You are like the Moon. You reign over the vast sky, shining brightly, radiating beautifully.
And I feel like one of the Stars surrounding you; loving you dearly in silence. As you became my night's dream, you felt real. Your gaze; your smile. Your warmth; your touch. Your voice; your breathing. I reverted back to reality with my heart pounding, blissfully beating. Then I gaze back at the Sky patiently waiting for the Moon --patiently waiting for You.
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This piece is dedicated to Qin Fen of AwakenF group. He's been through a lot while having the journey in achieving his dreams. This is my way of showing my love and support. Francie Lynch Mar The Cows Shall Inherit the Earth. We have seen the magic bullet Cure all disease. Cows won't go extinct. Lush, green pastures run to the waters' edges. Twisted ankles in gopher holes are passe. Trees are well-placed for shade beneath a relentless sky. The lands are full, plush and crowded With work-a-day leather.
Their shelf life is unlimited, which is great for these series within a series books. You'll always be able to find the first book, even if you discover the series further in. They emotional and sexy reads, but with a 21 st century set of characters: A tattooed biker is matched with a proper Southern lady and a city boy returns to his cowboy roots.
Both are fun and recommended reads. This is in addition to the Carina Press titles which are now up to 1 75 per year. Avon Romance has its Impulse line of e-books with new releases every month. A romance reader might not find many traditional series romances there, but can discover new romance genres like New Adult.
For those of us romance readers with at least 10 years on our bookshelves, this genre seems to be romances with heroines in their 20s who are ready to leave the parental nest and make mistakes and find first loves. The more traditional series romances are found in the e-book division of Loveswept from Random House.
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Today, their authors include Ruthie Knox and Jessica Scott, who will surely be more famous in a couple of years. What are you reading? Do you enjoy the series romances as e-books?
Do you still belong to the book club delivery system? Or pick them up in the grocery store or book store? Sara Reyes is the founder and partner at FreshFiction. Believing face-to-face interaction is as important as virtual communities, Fresh Fiction sponsors an annual author reader tea in June, a readers conference in November, monthly literary events, and book clubs. Thank you! There was a problem adding your email address. Please try again. I turned in my incomplete school work and duly received my grades, but by graduation that spring, I was again locked into the familiar pattern, the blissful intensity and isolation followed by days of slow-motion comedown, when I would laze around for hours, eating spoonfuls of ice cream from the carton, desperate for the sugar rush, barely able to muster the energy necessary to take a shower.
It took me exactly one year from the time of college graduation to come to the decision that would, to a great extent, shape the next phase of my life. It hit me like a revelation: It might be possible to declare my independence from the various A. The idea occurred to me as I walked among the palm trees on the campus of U.
By then, I was living in Los Angeles, working as a private tutor for high-school kids, many of whom were themselves on Adderall, and taking summer-school classes in psychology and neuroscience in order to be able to apply for graduate school. I had decided I wanted to be a psychologist — infinitely more manageable than my secret ambition of being a writer, I thought.
Infinitely more realistic. Like many somethings, my decisions were informed by panic and haste, but also, of course, by whatever short-lived supply of the pills I happened to be in possession of. I was now surrounded — or had surrounded myself — by others caught up in the Adderall web. Together with two of my closest friends in Los Angeles that year, we traversed the city in a state of perpetual, hyped-up intensity, exchanging confidences that later we would not recall.
Adderall was the currency of our friendship; when one of us ran short of pills, another would cover the deficit. Driving through Los Angeles in a sun-drenched trance, weaving in and out of traffic, I found it all too easy to lose track of exactly how many pills I had swallowed that day. The very next day, I was sitting in exactly the kind of place I had envisioned, an impersonal room with gray walls and black leather furniture, describing to the attractive young psychiatrist in the chair opposite me how I had always had to develop elaborate compensatory strategies for getting through my school work, how staying with any one thing was a challenge for me, how I was best at jobs that required elaborate multitasking, like waitressing.
Untrue, all of it. I was a focused student and a terrible waitress. And yet these were the answers that I discovered from the briefest online research were characteristic of the A. So these were the answers I gave. Fifty minutes later, I was standing on San Vicente Boulevard in the bright California sun, prescription slip in hand. For years, the predominant explanation of addiction, promulgated by researchers like Nora Volkow, director of the National Institute on Drug Abuse, has revolved around the neurotransmitter dopamine. Dopamine, in fact, tends to feature in every experience that feels especially great, be it having sex or eating chocolate cake.
As a person begins to overuse a substance, the brain — which craves homeostasis and fights for it — tries to compensate for all the extra dopamine by stripping out its own dopamine receptors.
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With the reduction of dopamine receptors, the person needs more and more of her favored substance to produce the euphoria it once offered her. The vanishing dopamine receptors also help explain the agony of withdrawal: Without that favored substance, a person is suddenly left with a brain whose capacity to experience reward is well below its natural levels. It is an open question whether every brain returns to its original settings once off the drug. I had long been telling myself that by taking Adderall, I was exerting total control over my fallible self, but in truth, it was the opposite: The Adderall made my life unpredictable, blowing black storm systems over my horizon with no warning at all.
The psychiatrist was a kind Serbian man with an unflappable expression. He observed my distress calmly and prescribed Wellbutrin, an antidepressant with a slightly speedy quality that could cushion the blow of withdrawal and make it less painful to get off the Adderall. His theory was sound. But soon enough, I was simply taking both medications. Through my Adderall years, I lived a paradox, believing that the drug was indispensable to my very survival while also knowing that it was nothing short of toxic, poisonous to art, love and life. By , I had a contract to write a book about psychoanalysis and neuroscience; shortly after, I took a day job as a reporter for a news website.
What was required of me there was the constant filing of short, catchy pieces: to be quick and glib and move on to the next one. It was the kind of rhythm perfect for an Adderall-head like me — and the kind of writing at odds with the effort to think slowly and carefully, at book length.
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The goal of slow and careful thinking came to feel more and more anachronistic with each passing week. Occasionally, I would try to get off the drug. Each attempt began the same way. Step 1: the rounding up of all the pills in my possession, including those secret stashes hidden away in drawers and closets. Step 2: a day or two of feeling all right, as if I could manage this after all. Step 3: a bleak slab of time when the effort needed to get through even the simple tasks of a single day felt stupendous, where the future stretched out before me like a grim series of obligations I was far too tired to carry out.
All work on my book would stop. Panic would set in. Then, suddenly, an internal Adderall voice would take over, and I would jump up from my desk and scurry out to refill my prescription — almost always a simple thing to achieve — or borrow pills from a friend, if need be. And the cycle would begin again. Those moments were all shrouded in secrecy and shame. Very few people in my life knew the extent to which the drug had come to define me. The drug is supposed to be relatively quick and painless to relinquish.
http://perunda.com/the-seven-deadly-sins-183.php One post, in particular, has stayed with me, a mother writing on QuittingAdderall. I started taking Adderall in OCT The honeymoon period, then all downhill. I feel like I cannot remember who I was, or how it felt, to go one minute of the day not on Adderall.
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And in our culture, to be productive is kind of everything. But the fear of not being able to is what keeps people still using. The way I feel now is way worse than my A. I no longer feel, at this present time, able to get a Ph. I need to know from you, dear readers, that this will be temporary. Stratyner estimates that he has treated more than 50 patients trying to stop using the drug; currently, they range in age from 24 to Occasionally, it is necessary for him to hospitalize his patients as they come down off Adderall.