There’s nothing quite like crashing and realizing afterwards that I must have acted as the typical bipolar patient, “dealing with it” and not calling the real pdoc, or at least the one who can actually make any adjustments. Amazing how my bliss morphs into stubborn indifference even when I know better.

All upswings and crash landings aside, I had a splendid, fantastic, most enjoyable weekend with my daughter. Saturday morning we awoke early, dropped the car off for the much needed fluid change (and checklist of problems to fix), walked to the gym, worked a usual routine plus a bonus 30 minutes of bag punching, played ball, arranged one side of the garage while Ash progressed with her bike and scooter, spent time at the pool, had tickle fests upstairs (after the ferocious cleaning session and drilling fun required for a new coat rack), camped out in bed by 9pm, and as Ash snored a soft rumble, I finished a pleasingly humorous book and slept. Somewhere in there was the hunt for floaties, as we always do each year. You’d think the two pairs I purchased last year would survive a few months of downtime, but apparently not.

Today started off with pancakes and rarely does a day go south after such a tummy-warming, taste-bud treating meal (I’ll try not to remember the family camping trip when I was five years old). Play-doh, additional outside play time, a park hunting excursion (one with parking, difficult to find on a Sunday afternoon), and eventually a dinner picnic on the front lawn, before more splashing in the pool.

A weekend of memories and yet within the dusty corners behind my sockets* I can’t help but realize Ash will be returning to Texas on the 20th. Sometimes life sucks a little bit, but at least the sweetest days drown out the bitterness.

*(Completely different note, I just learned earlier this evening that my mom’s glass eyes do not just pop in her sockets and remain there on their own. As she described to me, the white balls are there to keep the glass eyes from “sliding all over the place”. Nice, I had no clue. I still have one of her brown eyes from an old pair of hers, I should find it…never did make it into a piece of jewelery like I had planned.)

The more difficult aspect about today was knowing what’s going on and not being able to DO anything about it. I went from a morning of feeling good, though slightly diluted compared to prior days, to an afternoon lunch spent freaking out in my car. I know I’m falling. After fighting unsuccessfully, I knew the crash would happen eventually but I tried to distract.

It’s as if I’m sliding, banging all sides of a tunnel as I clang my way down, just wishing for the final smack. An hour of punching a bag and instead of the usual euphoria and excitement throughout I was making odd faces to hide the sadness and pounding the tiles under the shower water.

I wish to call in a sick tomorrow and while technically that’s the case, only the one coworker with experience in mental health would understand. They must wonder what’s up anyhow, as my desk was painstakenly organized this morning, file folders re-labelled, computer and inbox files cleaned out, drawers organized, and tasks I’ve put off for days were completed.

Yet, my room is a mess, I’m unable to focus long enough to put all clothes away, incoming papers are in a lopsided pile on corner table, toys in random containers, though…oh, oh, the floor…clear. For if a paper or cord falls in my way I’m quite sure my patiently contained anger will regain control of me once again and I’ll throw the closest object, or yell at the absurdity of everything.

But my bed, my bed is my home in a few minutes, to an exhausted slumber. The cool sheets and summery comforter will engulf me and I’ll slip, to the few hours without racing thoughts or unexplained sadness, to sleep.

I finally have some time to play with the site, so beware, not all links will be working, but I’m attempting to get this running well relatively soon.

I’ve a new laptop
under my fingers,
but a familiar restlessness resides,
my garbled screams escaping
as blunt words,
frantic cleaning sweeps,
and unnecessary splurges.
On display I do not hide,
seemingly sharing
but not really
the reality,
such frustrations,
wishing to remain steady,
unable to slow down.
The early morning rainstorm
excites me
and I wish to
spin in the rain,
feeling water on flushed skin.
Rather, my head rests
against the textured wall
and I squelsh the impending
melancholy
with the sighs
of a sleeping four-year-old.