Posts Tagged ‘hypomania and creativity’

I’m running speedy today.  I’m hesitating to call myself manic, because there has been so much exciting stimulation in my life over the last couple of days that someone without bipolar disorder would probably be overstimulated and ungrounded.  But I’m calling myself a 4 – significantly expanded – on my Mania-Depression Scale, and there is the genuine risk of me getting manic.  The scales have tipped from the depressive end of the things and I need to let go of the tools I use to manage depression (seeking out extra stimulation, etc.) and bring in all my strategies for grounding (including somewhat reducing my stimulation, making sure to get enough sleep, etc).  A little bit ago, I laid out on the grass in the sun, one of the most powerful techniques I know for getting grounded.  Now, feel my butt in the chair, my feet on the floor, and breathe.  Let me take a moment to do these things.

After a couple of weeks of being mostly down, I'm ramping up again - time to shift from my energizing tools to my grounding tools.

After a couple of weeks of being mostly down, I’m ramping up again – time to shift from my energizing tools to my grounding tools.

(A minute later)  OK, I’m back.  It wouldn’t have hurt to do that longer, but this post is just wanting to write itself and I feel a need to capture it while it’s hot.  Getting it out will also be grounding.

My life has had several sources of exciting stimulation over the last 48 hours.  Wednesday afternoon, I previewed my 17-minute speech on bipolar disorder (my story – parallel to, but not quite the same as the”My bipolar journey” page at the top of this blog) for my performer/writing coach friend Nina Hart.  It was my first time since writing this piece two months ago to perform it for another person and was very exciting.  I had been manic when I wrote it and – even though it seemed to hold up while I was down – I never totally trust a creative piece I have produced when I’m up.

But Nina adored it – and had some excellent suggestions for how to improve it.  (Her most significant suggestion was, “You are so grippingly honest through the whole piece, then right at the end – when you bring the story into the present, how you are now – your integrity slips a little.  You paint your current situation more rosy than I think it is.  Your story will be less  powerful if you don’t stay equally honest right through to the end.”  Great feedback.  I knew she was right – and will make the changes tomorrow.

Honesty can be hard, but sometimes it's very freeing.

Honesty can be hard, but sometimes it’s very freeing.

I had a job interview yesterday about a job I’m enthused about.  This writing – and the public speaking, teaching and consulting about bipolar disorder that I see coming out of this – is my real work, but I also right now need an artist’s day job.  I think this job may be it, and I’m excited about it.

But more exciting than either of these was a gig I played last night.  Another piece of writing I produced when I was manic was a 6-minute piece of stand-up comedy I wrote four months ago.  When I crashed a couple of weeks later, I didn’t think it was any good.  Oh, I wrote this all up on a post that went up here on September 15 – so I’ll save the rest of that story.  You can go back and read it if you like.

Anyway, I performed this piece at church on September 15.  The title of the sermon was “It’s never too late to have a happy childhood.”  My piece, which i originally intended to be a sweet poem about the innocence of childhood – inspired by new grandbaby – under the influence of mania came out as this kind of wild comedic ride that I titled, “It’s never too late to have a screwed-up childhood.”  I thought it was strictly all for laughs, but I came to realize after I performed it that getting people laughing about the whole happy childhood/unhappy childhood dichotomy can be a therapeutic act.  Those of us who actually did have a screwed-up childhood may especially profit from the chance to laugh about all that.

So I was asked to reprise this piece at a benefit in a music club last night. I hired a video guy to capture it on videotape: I have a vision of it going up on a website that will help me promote my public speaking/teaching/consulting around bipolar disorder.  This would show my lighter side.

So I had a lot riding on this last night.  And it was a little intimidating playing a club, when most of my other performances have been in the cozy confines of my church.  Big crowds in my church – 200-300 people per service – but they know me and love my poetry.  These would be mostly strangers.

I'm playing a club!  Wow!

I’m playing a club! Wow!

When I first got up there, I was shocked by the stage lights: I couldn’t see the audience!  I had forgotten that this would be the case.  I usually rely on a lot of eye contact – I work the room.  And at first it wasn’t clear how well the crowd would respond.  They were there for music and here we were inserting spoken word near the end of the evening, right before the headliner band.  When I look at the video, I look a little physically frozen – my right arm mostly never moves.  But the crowd did warm up, I did find my rhythm and I finally had a lot of fun.

And the video came out really good.  You can view it on You Tube at



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A little over two months ago, I sat down with my friend Lisa for our occasional two-person writer’s group.  I had a clear mission.  Once a quarter I perform poetry (almost always poetry) at Jubilee, this non-denominational church I attend.  I had looked at the themes for the next quarter and saw that on September 15 (today) the theme for the service would be “It’s never too late to have a happy childhood”.  I thought, “I have a new grandbaby – I’ll write some sweet poem about the innocence of childhood or something like that.”

The Jubilee Celebration Room

The Jubilee Celebration Room

When I sat down with my writer friend, however, I was manic – and what poured out over the next 55 minutes was a wild piece of comedy titled, “It’s never too late to have a screwed-up childhood.”  In it, I teased Jubilee, Howard the minister, Don his brother-in-law and church administrator, Don’s wife Genevieve – and skewered our eccentric town of Asheville, Catholics, Baptists, Mormons and especially the Tea Party.

Howard our minister

Howard our minister

I loved it.  I laughed out loud as I was writing it.  My friend Lisa did not respond as enthusiastically, but then she hadn’t been feeling well, so I (in that moment) made nothing of it.  I was in a pretty unstoppable mode.   I put a post on Facebook, telling people the date and saying how much fun it was going to be.  As I rehearsed it over the next few days, my enthusiasm over the piece only grew.  They love my stuff at Jubilee – they love the serious stuff, but they especially love my funny stuff.  They consistently find it funnier than I do, rehearsing it out loud while walking my dog in the woods.  And this piece I myself thought was hysterical.

When I was high.  Then, after a few days, I crashed.  And suddenly this piece of comedy didn’t seem so funny.  I remembered Lisa’s muted response and thought, “She’s right – it sucks.”  And it was too long.  The window for pieces at Jubilee is five minutes, and this one was clocking in at eight.  When I was still high, that didn’t seem like a problem: “They love me at Jubilee – nobody is going to be watching the clock.  This is great stuff, it’s worth a couple extra minutes.”  Back down on the ground, eight minutes looked egregious (and really is way too long).  And some of the humor was a little mean-spirited – actually a lot of it seemed that way.  So it’s not funny, it’s mean-spirited,  it’s way too long, but if I take out all the inappropriate stuff there will not be much left.

I tried to pull the plug on it.  I wrote Howard that there were a whole lot of problems with the piece and I wanted to pull it.  “Fortunately you still have a lot of time to find a replacement.”  Howard is one of my very biggest fans – and loves what my poetry and comedy does for the Jubilee community.  He didn’t want to hear it.  “Can’t you edit it? Or is there some other piece of yours that you can pull out?”

Well, apparently I wanted my arm twisted.  I told him I would try.  A couple of days later, my mood had lifted (too much, actually) and I found that when I edited out the edgier humor, leaving only the affectionate teasing, there was still a lot of funny stuff left – and it now clocked in just a little bit less than five minutes.  So I was back to enjoying it – got freshly enthused about it during my dog walks in the woods.

Then nine days ago I crashed again.  Now there were two problems with the piece.  I again became sure that it was poorly written and not funny – and I was equally sure that I would not be able to perform it effectively.  “Comedy is all about timing – and when I’m this down my timing is all off.  I have no flow, everything I do falls flat.”  This assessment is probably overly self-critical, but actually has some truth to it.

“So the writing sucks and my performance is going to be pitiful.  This is going to be an embarrassment,  In nine years of performing at Jubilee once a quarter, I’ve never bombed, but this is probably going to be it.”  All along I had intended to put a reminder up on Facebook a few days before the performance, but I did not.  I wished there were some way that I could get out of it altogether.

This morning, I was not only depressed, I was angry.  I didn’t know where the anger had come from or what it was about.  In addition to my frequent nihilistic mantra “This is bullshit” (muttered under my breath), this morning I added “Fuck you”.  This was not an auspicious mode for delivering comedy – it actually scared the shit out of me, but I couldn’t shake it.

Finally, as I was getting ready to leave – kind of out of desperation – I tried to use the 3rd Step of Alcoholics Anonymous (and Overeaters Anonymous, my addiction).  It’s a new behavior for me to “turn it over” to my Higher Power.  New because I usually try to muscle through things on my own – and because I basically have no idea what my Higher Power is.  I do believe that Life is intelligent and in some very mysterious way benevolent, has our best interests at heart – somehow loves us.  I believe it, and sometimes (especially when I’m up) genuinely, in my guts, experience it as true.  But mostly (especially when I’m down) I live from a place of isolation – it’s tiny little me against an overwhelming, uncaring universe.

But, neophyte that I am at this turning it over business, I tried.  “Life, I can’t handle this by myself.  I don’t know how to shake this anger.  I can’t seem to get out from under this depression.  I don’t know how to find the kind of rhythm I’ll need to deliver comedy.  It’s up to you – I’m turning it over to you.”

And it worked!  As I was walking up towards Jubilee, I saw one of my friends going in ahead of me and thought, “There are so many people in this community whom I love – and who genuinely love me.  I have the chance to give them something today.  I want to give them a gift, a gift of laughter.”  My mood started to lighten.

As i walked into the celebration room, a friend said,

“I see you in the program today – I’m looking forward to what you have to say about childhood.”

“Don’t expect anything today except hopefully a bunch of laughs.”

“Ah, but I know that with your humor there is always some deeper meaning underneath.”

“You’re going to have to really dig to find any deeper meaning here.”

“Well my childhood had nothing funny about it – if you can make me laugh about childhood, that will be worth it to me.”

This post is pretty long already.  Let me just say that I hit my stride, had a great time at both services, the people of Jubilee adored the piece – found it even funnier than I had ever (even when I was up) expected.  I came away with my writer’s voice feeling very affirmed, at a time when I have been discouraged about writing anything of any use to anybody.  I realized that this piece was not only funny – but that getting people to laugh about the whole happy childood/screwed-up childhood dichotomy actually did have deeper significance, was in a way genuinely healing.  The piece was actually wiser than I realized.  And the process of co-creating a few minutes of magic – me and the audience, creating it together – really punched a hole in my isolation.  It all was healing for me, too.

An earlier funny piece at Jubilee

An earlier funny piece at Jubilee

Sometimes I sink into the truth that I'm loved at Jubilee, but it's so easy to forget.  Step 3 - "Made a decision to turn over my life and my will to God's care, as I understand God." Life loves me.

Sometimes I sink into the truth that I’m loved at Jubilee, but it’s so easy to forget. Step 3 – “Made a decision to turn over my life and my will to God’s care, as I understand God.” Life loves me.

I’m posting the piece, also.  Some of the Jubilee humor may be lost on you, and most of my stuff (maybe especially comedy) has less impact on the page than performed, but you’ll get a sense of it.  My friend with the not-funny childhood said afterwards that he smiled non-stop through the whole thing.  i hope you get a couple of smiles out of it.

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I’m not integrated today – I’m fragmented.  My concerns about an out-of-control mania have passed: I got seven hours of sleep last night and am not particularly speedy – just enough to call myself a 5, slightly expanded, rather than balanced (the grail and a state in which I spend very little time).  As always when I’m not depressed, I worry when the next depression is coming and how bad it will be.  Walking the dog this morning, I was not very responsive to the Spotify music playing through my phone (Steve Earle, who just yesterday was really rocking me).  Is this an early warning sign that a depression is looming?  Or just a part of how mentally preoccupied I am today?

And i am mentally preoccupied today.  I have a whole lot of writing queued up for this blog – posts that I have unfinished or unedited, dictated in my phone and handwritten in the little spiral notebook I carry with me everywhere.  This is some of the standard fragmentation that comes with running too high, which i have done for a week now.

But even more than that I have the disconnection between the grand vision that emerged for me last week for where I am going with my business (see Depression and Life Purpose, August 9) and the day-to-day reality of my life.  These aspirations for three books and a public speaking business are as yet pretty ungrounded: the first book, my memoir, is only part finished – and the other two books are as yet just a vision.  And the public speaking business is also right now just in my mind’s eye.

This wonderful vision crystallized in part as my response to a 6-month entrepreneurship training that I signed up for last week.  They came together from fragments that have been floating around in my mind for months and years.  They came together with a force that was a little shocking.  Was the mania that I teetered on the brink of last week a result of so much stimulation or the cause of it?  Is this vision just one more manic plan that there is no way that i can in reality make operational?

Aren’t these always the fears for someone who wrestles with bipolar disorder?  Can I possibly reach that mountain I saw so clearly just a few days ago?  How do integrate these two realities i inhabit?  Where are the baby steps that can link my grounded (or even depressed) reality with my bigger vision?

For me today, the baby steps have everything to do with this blog.  This blog is the link between my current reality and my vision of books and a speaking business.  I have posts and pages to write and edit.  I have several ways I want to improve the blog before I start promoting it with mental health professionals, an effort I want to begin within a couple of weeks.

And today I need to not get compulsive or too driven with these tasks: I need to spend time with my friend Badria.  I need to swim, big-time.  I was sick at the beginning of last week, got rained out of a swim another day – and it has been over a week since I swam, which is so integrating for me.

I have work to do, baby steps to take.

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I’m in trouble – I’m not sleeping.  Having written late last night about the bad old days when I used to pull all-nighters, I came precariously close to one last night.

Yesterday I read that as part of the amazingly exciting six month entrepreneurship class I just signed up for, a member of our student cohort who owns a TV studio has offered to shoot and edit a video for each of us to put on our websites.  On fire with this vision, last night at 11 p.m. (time to be in bed, especially when I am already running too fast and got up at 4;30) I sat down to write a speech about bipolar disorder that was forming itself in my head.

An hour later i snapped out of the mesmerism of writing, having written a 17-minute speech telling in brief form the history of my bipolar disorder – really blinding fast for such a long speech.  And it’s hot – I know it is.  It’s powerful, poignant – at times brutal in its honesty.  Yet, after definitely descending to depths that resonate with just how low my true-life story has at times gone, it does come out into the light and ends in a golden place of hope.  Not rosy pie-in-sky happy – still grounded and realistic.  Not all healed, but definitely showing the promise of healing.

At a quarter past midnight, I wrote an email to a friend who I assumed was asleep – a good friend who has followed closely the events of my last few days: all the excitement around this blog and about my new training.  I told her, “When this video goes on my website, i believe that as soon as I start seriously marketing my public speaking I’m going to start getting gigs.”  And even now, the next day, this seems like not an unrealistic projection.  Pretty heady stuff.

I went to bed around 12:30, still very stimulated.  I thought, “If I sleep until 6:30, that’s six hours – not bad.”  i knew I was not that confident of making it asleep until 6:30 – that morning I had been up and writing at my computer at 4:30.  I looked on my little bedside table at the novel I’ve been reading at bedtime, and greatly enjoying, and thought – “Not tonight, too late”.  But I realized that I actually did not feel very sleepy, so I read for a while.  It is such a good story and so well written that it was too stimulating last night to soothe me towards sleep and I put it aside after 15 minutes, no closer to sleep than when i started it.  I don’t know how long it was until I actually fell asleep, but I know that when I did fall asleep, I slept lightly and fitfully.  And at 1:30 I was up to take a pee.  On my way back to the bedroom, I pulled a hard left and headed downstairs to the kitchen to get some peanut butter (a guilty pleasure of mine – for some reason peanut butter, one of my favorite foods, never tastes as good as in the middle of the night).  I told myself that putting a little something in my tummy might help me to sleep.

Five minutes and four spoonfuls of peanut butter later (my usual dose), I had the light off and was laying in bed awaiting sleep.  And it never came.  i first stayed really still, eyes closed, willing sleep to come.  Then my eyes popped open, but I still laid very quiet.  in my head, I had begun to write.  I was writing two pieces at once – part of my brain starting this blog post and another part editing the speech I had written last night.  The idea of getting up and starting my day after one hour of very fitful sleep was very threatening: “That’s damn near an all-nighter.”  But even when I am tending towards mania and needing the sleep, the artist in me does have a policy of “You don’t refuse the Muse.”  When she is giving you writing to do, it is at your own artistic peril that you refuse her.  It is exquisitely painful when she decides you are an unworthy host and turns her back on you.

So I got up.  I disciplined myself, as always, to make the bed – the chaos of an unmade bed disturbs my nervous system.  “But maybe I should leave it unmade, to leave open the possibility of going back to bed in an hour or two.  That would still only be 3:30 or 4:30.”  But I knew that was hopeless – I’m up now, up for the day.  So 10 minutes after planting feet on the floor, I was down here at the kitchen table at my laptop, writing (chamomile tea steeping on the table next to me – maybe that will settle me down a little).  And i tried quickly to transcribe both pieces I had been writing in my head, before either of them disappeared.  And I was mostly successful.

So here I am at 2:55, having had an hour of sleep and with no hope that I will get more.  I’m concerned about myself.

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Nothing can defeat depression more consistently than a clear, powerful sense of life purpose.

When I am very depressed, my life is dominated by nihilistic mantras like “Nothing helps and nothing matters” and “This is all bullshit” – which, on  a really bad day, may audibly escape my lips several times an hour.  This kind of devastatingly negative experience of my personal world cannot co-exist with a positive vision for what I have to contribute to the world – how i intend to make the world a better place by living out my unique sense of personal calling.

I’m definitely running high today – at least a 4 on my manic depression scale (see page at top of blog).  This morning I woke at 4:30 – really the early limit on when I normally wake up.  But I was up and at the computer within just a few minutes, buzzing with ideas for this and a couple other blog posts.  It’s exciting, it’s positive, it’s constructive.  It’s infinitely better than the alternative when I’m depressed – lying in bed for hours, trying/pretending to be asleep, really just not ready or willing to face my life.   There is so much clear reason why I would be running high.  But I still need to take this running high very seriously, to do everything I possibly can do to ground myself.

The first big factor that has me running high is this blog.  This blog is so clearly linked to my own sense of life purpose that it is tremendously important to me.

The second, even bigger factor that has me running high is that in the last couple of days I have gotten dramatically clearer on my sense of life purpose.  I have more and more intuitively sensed that this blog is somehow central to my personal calling, but that sense has been mostly only intuitive – murky, not well fleshed out.  But in the last two days that vision for my future has come together: threads that for weeks-months-years have been floating around in background, in and out of consciousness, have coalesced into a clear picture.

Yes, this blog is central to my future – and here is why.  This blog is a jumping-off point for the business that will carry me into this last phase of generativity in my life.  Out of this blog will be birthed three books and a public speaking business that will allow me to devote my full time to powerfully making a difference in the world.  It all has to do with bipolar disorder.  It is something that is so central to the truth of my life, the unique personal path that I walk.  After working for 20 years as a clinical psychologist and dealing with this disease for so long, it is a topic on which I am uniquely qualified to speak.  I have, over the last 15 years, applied the personal consciousness that has been shaped by 35 years of personal and spiritual growth work, to the healing of this disease.  I have learned a lot – it is meant to be shared.

My poetry book - my first foray into self-publishing.  I have sold 130 copies of this xeroxed poetry "chapbook" - a good and encouraging experience around putting my writing out into the world.  You can order it from the link on the right!

My poetry book – my first foray into self-publishing. I have sold 130 copies of this xeroxed poetry “chapbook” – a good and encouraging experience around putting my writing out into the world. You can order it from the link on the right!

My first book - "finished" for several years now, just waiting for me to do something with it.  Really a pretty solid book - some people adore it.

My first book – “finished” for several years now, just waiting for me to do something with it. Really a pretty solid book – some people adore it.

My next book, for mental health professionals, survivors and family/friends.  The product of 20 years practice of clinical psychology and more years of struggling with the disease - and, now, of this blog.  I have a lot to say on the topic.

My next book, for mental health professionals, survivors and family/friends. The product of 20 years practice of clinical psychology and more years of struggling with the disease – and, now, of this blog. I have a lot to say on the topic.

A self-help book for people with the disorder.  Besides my clinical psychology and personal bipolar history, I have taught all manner of personal growth courses for 30 years, designed courses for management consulting firms, etc.  It's a natural for me.

A self-help book for people with the disorder. Besides my clinical psychology and personal bipolar history, I have taught all manner of personal growth courses for 30 years, designed courses for management consulting firms, etc. It’s a natural for me.

The vision that inspired my fire walk in June: what I was willing to do "no matter what it takes", what I would walk across hot coals to realize.  It was a moment of  personal triumph - and clear vision.

The vision that inspired my fire walk in June: what I was willing to do “no matter what it takes”, what I would walk across hot coals to realize. It was a moment of personal triumph – and clear vision.

Public speaking has clearly, for a long time, been meant to be part of my life purpose.  I’m a performer, it’s in my DNA – it’s my karma.  Back in Chicago, I won some very high awards  for my public speaking in that region of 1500 Toastmasters.  Here in Asheville, I have for nine years now performed my poetry four times a year at Jubilee, my non-denominational church – where we can get 500-700 people at two services on a Sunday and where my performance poetry is absolutely adored.  Three years ago, I and two other men poets attracted 75 people, midweek for $10 a head, to an evening of poetry.  I went into an absolute zone, brought the house down, and emerged from that evening into a mountain top experience where I knew that my writer’s voice – and my performing – were meant for a much bigger stage than Jubilee, bigger than Asheville.

A vision for a public speaking business based on this blog and these books.  I'm a phenomenal speaker - it's work I was born to do.

A vision for a public speaking business based on this blog and these books. I’m a phenomenal speaker – it’s work I was born to do.

But I never was able to find the baby steps to realize that overwhelmingly powerful vision and I collapsed into a very deep depression – actually into a downward spiral that went on for over three years.  Now I am back to that mountain-top vision, but this time I have baby steps to take – this blog, one post at a time.  This blog will lead me towards those bigger goals.

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Still later to bed than i oughta be – catching up on emails felt good, though.

Was a little high this morning, but how could i not have been: I went into a recording studio for the first time, to record audio for a couple of poems for my new poetry website!  The guy who runs the studio is my friend and – for just $40 for an hour of studio time – recorded the two poems and laid down some beautiful piano grooves in the background.  The product was so beautiful that i wept!  Partly, i think, just because it was so damn gorgeous – and partly because it gave me a vision of what really is possible with these poems, some of which i love very much.  Like my new wonderful shrink likes to say, “Creativity and hypomania are so interwoven, the last thing i would ever do is try to medicate you out of that little bit of speediness.  The real issue is to keep your feet on the ground enough that your crashes are not too bad.”

So, down off that morning high now, i am crashing a bit: very low energy, cancelled out of going to this theater piece tonight – disappointed at not supporting my friend’s show, but i know it’s dangerous to overextend myself any more than i have been doing.  (I was very relieved when another friend cancelled out of our plans to go to the state fair yesterday evening: i was gonna, by god, keep my commitment to her – but better, really, for me to lay low.  I am going to this party with some friends – our choir from church, fabulous people – tomorrow.  That and church in the morning are way more than enough.)

So, just a little crash so far – and a more than fair tradeoff for a genuine breakthrough day for my art.

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(Sitting at my front porch desk, slept 2:30-10.)

I woke this morning with a half-eaten granola bar under me in the bed.  I vaguely remember struggling to stay awake to finish it – obviously unsuccessfully – but can’t remember whether i ate it as i was first going to bed or whether i got it when i got up to pee (usually about two hours after i go to sleep).  The kitchen light was on, too, and i don’t know when i last had that on.

I remember that when i was sitting out back and giving Buddy his bedtime love, at almost 1 a.m., some new writing (some of it for My Buddy’s Blog: http://mybuddysblog.wordpress.com/2009/09/11/doggie-vision/) forced its way up into my consciousness and when i came back in i reopened my laptop (the lid of which i had closed for the night, thinking “Enough – go pet Buddy and then go to sleep”).  That writing – and whatever else it triggered, i can’t remember what – apparently kept me up for at least an hour.  I remember that Buddy finally decided to come in for the night, after all – and that i gave him another 10 minutes or so of cuddling to help him know that he is loved before he slept through the night.

But I’m fine today!  I try to remember to always feel grateful for each day that i’m not depressed – and especially after i was suffering so desperately just two days ago.  I have several tasks to accomplish that are truly time-sensitive (including finally getting some audio up on my poetry website, so i can send out an email blast about my poetry book), and i do feel just slightly driven about all that – but really mostly trusting that if i don’t try to push, the tasks will roll out as they are meant to.

And i have several nice social engagements scheduled for the next three days, which feels very good to me after my little burst of loneliness last night.

Oh, i remember now: I chose, last night, to respond to my loneliness with quite the little burst of emails to my friends – most of them replies to their emails, but one that was a note that i had been wanting to send for a couple of weeks.  (“Even though the hour is late”, 1:30 a.m., “I want to send you these reflections on our conversation after church, before i once again forget to do it.”)  All this achieved the desired effect of helping me feel more connected – and i caught up on all my recent email correspondence, and even a little bit of Facebook stuff like responding to two “friend requests”, but i spent two hours, easy, doing it.

I also did some good writing yesterday for my Being Lived blog (http://beinglived.wordpress.com/2009/09/10/well-howd-it-go/.  My sleep and life may be pretty ragged right now, but i love it when my wonderful new shrink says, “Sometimes a little hypomania just comes with the territory of creative periods – it’s just a matter of staying grounded enough that the inevitable crash is not too disastrous.”

Inspired by that last paragraph, i just went back and changed my mania-depression rating from a 5 to a 4: yeah, i definitely am just a little (I hope) hypomanic.

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