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This Bipolar Season Begins April 10th

I hope I'm not heading for a bipolar meltdown. Last night I had to shed some tears as I went to bed at Mom's house. She was listening to the "Easy Music" station. I couldn't go to sleep because I knew the words to all the instrumental songs they were playing. Each song brought back some memory of a sadly ended relationship, some family member or friend who isn't alive anymore, some dreams I used to believe could maybe come true--in some other reality other than the one I'm living in now. I was feeling pain that brought tears that my dog would have licked off my face if I had been at my house. But I was at Mom's house to help her, and I couldn't very well be breaking down over my problems. I kind of slipped into a catch-22.

But then I went to sleep and dreamed about the Bahamas, and boating between islands, and of course, John and Paul were right there, encouraging me as friends who cared about me and my writing. Then it was 6:44 am and the alarm was ringing, and I had to get going to help Mom out. By noon she didn't need me anymore, so I took a nap.

Got up and went to buy pet food. I still miss "Nellie" and I found a site that's called siameserescue.org. Maybe I could adopt or foster a cat that looks like "Nellie" did. It wouldn't be the same, but I'd have a blue eyed baby. But I already have three pets to take care of.

I've had some real good and real bad experiences writing journalism style at www.italknews.com. Most everybody is great, but a few get my goat. I spent three hours editing an article on Elizabeth I, who happens to be one of my favs in history. Three hours of compulsive obsessive get-it-right editing, which was replied with "No thanks. I prefer mine." Her redundancies doubled her word count. I felt like it was my story, and then it wasn't wanted.

Set off bipolar stuff. The mood swings have started, and I don't seem to be able to make them stop. Heaven, hell, heaven, hell--damn moody roller coaster. I want off the ride, but since it's the ride of my life--that's not allowed.

I'm unhappy. I think I'll copy this to another form, and see what I can work out. It's damn bipolar stuff that I have no control over. People don't understand. That's why they call it mental illness.

After note: After taking my prescribed meds, eating, getting a bit of sleep, and letting it all out with a good cry, I'm feeling much better. They call it a freaking MOOD Disorder, cheeze! I've got other words for it, but I won't repeat them in such fine company.