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I haven’t had much positive to say lately, because I’ve witnessed some not nice things happen in this community recently, and I’m not sure why, but it’s tiresome and actually rather boring. And so, I’ve been keeping my nose down, mouth shut, and occupying myself with things at home, like dying shit with RIT because I’m tired of brown sheets and white sweaters. I’ve also learned that Coppertone Gradual Tan Self-Tanner aerosol spray smells a lot like weed and requires a ton of incense to make your bathroom smell relatively decent again.

I’m still fat. I’m suffering a horrible bout of migraines — nearly a week now –, with hot spiders of red fire crawling up my left temporal lobe every day. I’ve still got an ulcer. My family still hates me. We’ve found a place to live. We are still getting a puppy. The leaves have bloomed and my moods have settled. I take Ambien now, and I fall asleep in record time, despite any midnight anxieties that may try to plague me, begging me to assauge them with Forensic File marathons and Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwiches.

I have read a lot this spring, finishing the very triggering Madness: A Bipolar Life, by Marya Hornbacher. I use the word triggering in it’s actual sense, meaning that it Triggered me into Actual HypoManic Episodes, and I spent a lot, and couldn’t sleep, and spoke quickly and had grand ideas about writing books and stories, and then crashed into cranky, ornery moods. I don’t use Triggering in the invented sense, that people toss around easily and callously. Her books is a much better picture into the mind of the manic than is Unquiet Mind, the famous, yet more academic, tome of bipolar disorder. I don’t suffer the same as Hornbacher, but her writing is staccato and sharp and speaks the language of madness just right. I’ve read some Augusten Burroughs this spring as well, and his childlike style of writing is fun and gregarious. It’s been a good escape into others’ insanity, this reading.

I’m anxiously awaiting the thunderstorms to come, and release some of the pressure in my brain, the eventual clash of spring and summer meeting. Every night I will one to come, a big one, so I can lay huddled in the bed with N and the cats and pull the sheets tight up to my eyes and shriek when the lightning flashes, knowing a loud crack of thunder will peal shortly after. The best thunderstorms happen in the afternoons, a momentary daylight midnight, when you can smell the change in energy. I like to stand in the wind and let my hair whip around me and watch the leaves change colors, the whites exposed like fish bellies on trees.

But for now I content myself with sticking my hands deep in the soil of repotted tomato plants and running my hand over lavender and peppermint herbs, and telling them both they’ll live a long and happy life, just like me.

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2 Comments

  1. Bri said,

    May 14, 2008 at 11:02 pm

    I was wondering where you had got to. I was starting to worry. I am glad to hear you are pretty much ok, if not totally ok.

  2. Jana said,

    May 15, 2008 at 2:34 pm

    Also glad to see you back– although I don’t technically know you, I have bookmarked your blog and was also starting to worry. Here’s hoping for more sleep and fewer migraines!


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