Flying low

This morning at my doc's I finally realized what mania is. I was in the middle of an list of extraordinary ideas I have had lately. They really are very good, you know. He was taking notes. Then I recalled yesterday, I'd built shelves in the kitchen window, and they really turned out very well, but after I found myself bawling uncontrollable. You see, the tree in the back yard cracked. A large limb fell between the house and the garage and my landlord called in the tree people who arrived with a tractor and chain saws. They spent hours back there trimming that limb into manageable pieces and trampling all over my cat's grave.

My doc looked up from his notebook and said, "that sounds like rapid cycling to me", and it sounded so profound. I didn't understand why I hadn't realized that that's exactly what those baffling crazy ups and downs are. It was all so shiny and new.

Now that I am back in myself again and crying over the fucking cat again and hating myself for all the stupid reasons I hate myself, it seems pretty obvious. Not so new, kind of tarnished.

I think about Frank a lot. What presence and absence means. I have a lot of arguments. He doesn't really have to be present for that. The sex though is a bit bleak.

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