Mine doubly spaced out horrific modus operandi to cope...

with the natural progression of mental, physical and spiritual development.
I experience lucid dreams courtesy one or more of the prescription medications taken for mental health issues such as anxiety, compulsive/obsessive disorder, dysthymia, and palmar hyperhidrosis most likely born with aforementioned proclivities that became exacerbated when natural metamorphosis occurred during adolescence. Doctor (psychiatrist Ted Goldberg gainfully employed at Collegeville Counseling, then a mental health professional, (who if still alive would be among those people who attained their late nineties or perhaps joined the rank and file of countless centenarians) prescribed Elavil (the brand name for amitriptyline, a prescription tricyclic antidepressant often used primarily to treat depression and often prescribed "off-label" to help manage chronic nerve pain, fibromyalgia, tension headaches, and migraines) and Mellaril (A brand name for thioridazine, a major tranquilizer historically used to treat psychotic conditions like schizophrenia). Though non-verbal during those first sessions (when upon the cusp of puberty), I remember he incorporated popular board games (long since relegated to the dustbin of history), which seemed to elicit (a verb that means to draw out, evoke, or bring forth a response, reaction, or fact from someone typically involving some level of skill, effort, or questioning to get a reaction), which slowly but surely gradually drew out more responsiveness to me (then an extremely introverted boy, whose guise of long hair merely dolled up making that dude look like a lady, especially because of diminutive stature and very slight frame, and even now quite a few scores of years later finds yours truly a heavier version of that then quiet as a Unitarian Church mouse), who remembers naught about those severely emotionally trying times, whose withdrawn demeanor and a crash test dummy probably fell under the autistic spectrum, but of course more than half a century ago remained mired into emotional maelstrom and did not want to be alive, hence he resorted to the then suicidal ideation of anorexia nervosa, which choice to starve myself to death (less popular then than now - meaning Juneteenth 2026), and little understood issue of body dysmorphia. After foregoing not eating first one meal after another until nary a bite size bit of sustenance did not pass thru my lips, a decrease in weight (from an already insubstantial bag of bones) became readily apparent to kith and kin found father and mother of mine scrambling for immediate intervention among the scarce resources of the early nineteen seventies, and fortunately mommy dearest happened to be a Licensed Practical Nurse whose ingeniousness found her whipping up a nutritious drink, which the sole son hesitantly then more avidly accepted to consume, and he created a ritual or routine, whereby an achingly time consuming process to measure out a capful of said substantial mixture of acceptable solution became (as iterated above) a protracted endeavor where (also as mentioned above) one plastic capful of the liquid smoothie (packed with whatever ingredients Doctor Carleton Fredericks (a popular accredited medicine man mother paid close attention while closely listening to him over the airwaves) while she prepared these thick healthy blend of fruits plus powered ingredients analogous to an Hawaiian punch loaded with an ideal base that includes full-fat dairy or fortified plant milks combined with dense fruits, healthy fats, and hidden proteins, which ever so slowly blend of essential minerals and vitamins digested without a hitch found hunger pangs of mine strengthened weakened state, which most likely found the writer of these words more lucid as I rowed my figurative boat gently down the time stream, where mein kampf fleshed out with eventual gained pounds, whereby tipped the scaled at approximately 5.35714 rolling stones, whereat this foo fighting beastie boy eventually acquired a healthier glow about him, but still remained mum when spoken to by a meek and scared little boy, who felt nostalgic to return back to the future before childhoods' end, although the dreamy fantasy hardly matched those formative years lived by me before father time did segue way into a teenage wasteland, when young parents of mine breathed a sigh of relief that neither alcohol nor illegal consciousness expanding material not a factor, but nevertheless felt stymied and helpless every step of the way. Some years after apparently and visibly shrugging off anorexia nervosa, an attempt got made to compensate for years blind-sided (unexpectedly surprised or caught off guard by an event or piece of information nearly resulting in a negative or shocking outcome such as my predilection towards a premature demise), and even at the jotting down of these words, the courting of the grim reaper teased because of boyhood lost, which twelve years of attending kindergarten to twelfth grade figuratively shot thru with wracking (a state of being riddled with extreme spiritual, physical or mental suffering, and a subsequent effort to ruin, or to destroy being alive, which counter measures included over indulging while masticating food with the intent to join the graceful dead, which penchant against experiencing horrendous anguish considerably alleviated relying on and running towards father's little helpers, which lessened stigma around the issue of mental health and attendant analogous magic bullets delivers and brings some measure for measure the infrequent apothegm all's well that ends well for a sexagenarian hoof felt (no prosaic horsing around) still smart from love's labors lost cause this senior citizen considers himself part of the furniture and only during the second half of his existence (plagued with existential nihilism for countless foregone opportunities to allow, enable and promote healthy body, mind and spirit triage) haunts me despite fervent effort to focus on the here and now versus lamenting unlived days of mine life as the world turns Earth’s axis of rotation is tilted at approximately 23.5 degrees (specifically 23.44 degrees relative to its orbital plane around the Sun), which angle of the dangle responsible for giving us different seasons of the witch, but no need to fret just because eventually over a cycle of roughly 41,000 years, this tilt naturally fluctuates between 22.1 degrees and 24.5 degrees, although those individuals afflicted with anticipatory anxiety might wake up in a cold sweat despite bitterly cold wintry temperatures, yet oddly enough quirky worries of mine concern the gamut from the hot water suddenly running cold when longish hair of mine heavily leathered with shampoo, and to top off the dilemma the fire alarm goes off here cause baby that ain't no drill but the real deal when volunteer fire fighters donned in their respective gear and trumpeting gushing water out the end of a long hose to extinguish the blaze, which despite the far fetched likelihood versus say a nuclear war (which wordsmith here shrugs off as minimally worrisome) quite irrational, yet impossible mission to eradicate as just one among many examples that could be identified, but fortunately quite time consuming exercises in futility again lemme share a peculiar behavioral quirk rectified by maintaining a shorter hair than otherwise, cause way back when I actually groomed myself to enhance boyishly handsome features, to comb my knotty locks incorporated applying the hair pick encompassed hours (sometimes, days, weeks, months... - ha) to detangle even after applying a profuse quantity of no more tangles, and then once complete, I gathered the scattered strands on the floor with ideal intent to burn, but since moving here - Highland Manor Apartments not feasible, thus now they get suctioned up vis a vis the vacuum cleaner. A lengthy list iterating the gamut of other pointless pursuits perpetuating irrational actions would be time consuming and most likely encompass innumerable volumes if such an endeavor undertaken before being taken by the undertaker to the cremation facility, which decision already made even though inadequate funds available in my pathetic and anemic three checking accounts due to virtual thefts videlicet cyber punks who tricked and treated me as pretending to present themselves as legitimate and subsequently misleading an easy target ofttimes threatening frightful consequences if I disregarded further coerced cooperation, or a gentle soothing voice appealed to cents and sensibility without pride nor prejudice convincing the naïveté of an older gentleman who knew not what hacks virtual tricksters hoodwinked, lured, and pulled the wool over these myopic eyes of mine to convince me to drive to an ATM machine and convert cold cash into bitcoin crypto currency, which this fool on the hill fell for hook, line and sinker forsaking nest egg for me and the missus, and since then many instances of bank fraud took money of mine, which entailed filing a claim opening a new account, transferring dollars to donuts, and implementing bank experts to intervene and fortunately restoring taken from Citizens Bank accounts forcing me to be extremely attentive to emails and regularly (without lead) checking my online accounts on the ever present lookout for denudation of meager monies, and more or less divine intervention and intercession of an anonymous benefactor...so if thee care to patronize an honest to dog, humble, introspective, jesting, kind-hearted, liberal-minded nonestablishmentarian Pennsylvanian and Unitarian.