I have to write this before I lose my nerve. I’ll give myself a word count quota of, say, 300 words, and then I must publish what I write. This can serve as a lifeline to society, which, for me, is tenuous. I don’t want to over-think it, over-edit it. That’s what I’m prone to do. Over-do everything. I just need to write this morning. Write 300 words.
I suspect I have manic depression. Oops, see there, I edited that sentence. I initially wrote, ” I suspect I’m manic depressive”, but changed it because you see, I am not manic depressive. No, I only have manic depression. It’s one of those personal development mind-tricks I picked up over the years. So I believe I may have manic depression, which is called bipolar disorder these days. “Manic depression” sounds more romantic, though. Look at that, I’m at 150 words already. This isn’t so hard. I’m so clever to use my own self-consciousness as the subject of this entry. Or is it “post”, or “blog”, or “blog post”? A few more words to go. I can just keep rambling and I’ll meet my quota.
Back to manic depression. Yes, I suspect I have that. At least I know I’m in some kind of depression right now. I’m climbing out of one. I called it “being in a rut” for a while, but it’s depression. Anyway, when I think of “rut”, I think of sex. I dreamt about a hot chick last night, who turned out to be a transsexual. Latent homosexual tendencies? Or symptom of mania? I have strange, vivid dreams when I’m manic. Writing makes me manic. Creating does it, too. So does thinking. Living, basically. I went through a manic episode last year. Technically it’s called “hypo-manic”. Whatever, it led to depression. And look, I met my quota.