Smoketh has recently noted that I’ve been in a very foul mood with a general hatred for everything. General Hatred For Everything, of course, is a better term for Negativity, which I’ve always–tee-hee–hated. There’s something about the term that reeks Self-help/Mariah Carey/Psychology Today/Lack Of A Better Term. And since we’re in the medical profession, we abbreviate/acronimize everything (although I suspect that this acronimization more likely has its roots in tabloids). A few months back while we were in the emergency room intern Fangoria has declared, “na-nenega ako! Nega!” I initially suspected that it was some sort of racial slur until she clarified that it was short for negativity. “Nega,” I had said, a haze of psychedelic colors filling my field of vision in a cannabis-induced epiphany, “Nega. It sounds so… cosmic.”

“Stop being nega,” Smoketh berated me yesterday in a text message. “Be posi. Posi, sounds like yosi.”

Obviously there is only one appropriate response to this:

“It also sounds like… pussy,” I said, a haze of psychedelic colors etc. etc.

“That’s the last word I want to hear right now!” Smoketh retorted in rage.

A red ring of the Red Lanterns then suddenly swooped down and inserted itself in Smoketh’s right ring finger as a voice announced: “Smoketh, you have great rage in your heart. Welcome to the Red Lantern Corps!!!”

Which reminds me, Tori Amos’ 2007 album was something called American Doll Posse.

More Ritalin!

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