I had a doctor once tell me that when I wake up in the middle of the night I should stay up until I felt tired again.
As a bipolar patient, I find this to be terrible advice. I could be up for days, man. What was he thinking? Oh yes. He wasn’t. He was thinking perhaps he had a regular patient in mind. Once I’m up, you often have to use a sedative to keep me down.
So here I am, at 2:30 in the morning, wide-a-freaking wake. Despite the fact that my nasal passages are a mess and I sound like a bass when I speak. I don’t talk much about the day job but I use my voice for a living, specifically talk-to-text software. I’m afraid the software isn’t going to know what to do with this brand new booming timbre of my voice. It enjoys monotone so I suppose we shall see.
So I weaned myself off of alcohol only to forget taking my anti-anxiety meds. I am now able to have alcohol on a limited basis if I so choose. The cold has been dampening my spirits and my anxiety enough that I am okay for right now. I don’t want to go on a binge so I’m just going to avoid the alcohol in the event that I need an anti-anxiety pill.
Which is good because maybe I will lose some weight. The fashion industry is not a fan of catering to short, pudgy people. I just spent an hour looking for a pair of brown pants online. Because of newfound budgeting savvy, I managed to get them for the cost of shipping.
I am eating fruit and have been walking more than usual, which is supposed to make me feel good, right? Nope. Instead, I find myself stumbling toward depression in my usual fashion. Which occurred right after a bit of a hypomanic mixed episode. Unsurprising, but still tough to control.
Saw an old friend from elementary school/junior high/high school yesterday and I was so grateful that both of us are still around. Events within and beyond our control have been pretty rough with us the past few years. She has had a much harder time than I have. I am so happy that she is still a part of my life and I have no doubts we will persevere.
Speaking of persevering, I need to get myself writing for profit, whether it’s a small project, a content mill, or something. As much as I hate writing for pennies the truth is I’m running out of them. And they add up. So I’m going to make coming home and writing at night part of my new routine. Instead of sitting on my duff and staring at Facebook like a dud.
So Christmas is going to be lean this year. Just trying to keep it together, people. And stay in this apartment for as long as I can. It’s home now and I would hate to have Violet adjust to living in another place. So I’m planting my flag here. And I’m going to keep writing even if it’s the wrong time.
Speaking of writing, I think my first collection of essays might take this blog’s title. If I’m working on it consistently I might actually run the risk of getting it done.
And that scares me probably most of all.