Ok check this out. I haven't slept for 19 hours, I'm listening to the music of unsigned bands, reading HM Magazine, and I just put Gold Bond on my crotch. . . . yeah, I feel like I should be at Cornerstone Festival. Of course, most outdoor odors make me feel that way. There is truly no other experience to make me know I'm alive than C-Stone.

But my reasons for being in this mini-training session are not positive ones. I'm cycling about every four to five days, with the manic periods suddenly motivating me to do stuff and keeping me up all night long.

I've never manifested symptoms so distinctly before. And they are totally out of my control. I almost had a panic attack yesterday because I couldn't find dice (I needed to roll-up hit points and ability scores). I KNOW there are dice in this house, but I couldn't find any! I had to talk myself out of flipping out!

This is not healthy.


I did go fishing on Monday, though. I broke my reel within 15 minutes. . . . but I didn't freak out and go into a self-abusive anxiety/depression rage and might have the day before. Nope, I was in mellow-mode on Monday. I went to Wal-Mart, bought a new reel, and went back out to city lake and kept fishing. I didn't catch a damn thing, but I honestly had fun. And so did Tigger - he ran and explored and dug-up mole holes. He was so wasted, there wasn't a peep out of him the rest of the night.

I love the feeling of getting into bed and completely crashing - being unable to lift my eyes. I hate the timespace between laying down and sleeping . . . which is odd. I used love it. I used to want it endlessly prolonged so that the morning wouldn't come. But of course, morning isn't an issue right now. While unemployed there will always be time for recouperation, so I can abuse myself in the now.
For instance, I may crash soon, but I'll be dragging myself up again at noon so that I can listen to the Red Sox game on internet radio. I'll continue working on any of the following while I do: D&D characters/plot-line; CD collection cleaning and reorganization; and narrowing-down the publications, found mostly in the Poet's Market, to which I will soon send out poems. And if I can get enough caffiene into me, I may then go fishing. Just for a little while. Then I'll come back home and crash again.

Friday will probably be spent depressed and lethargic.

O Discordia.