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Mania and a Pat on My Back

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I am MAKING myself write. Just writing that made me feel all tired and stuff.

All day, I’ve had wonderful, prize winning posts floating around in my head and now that I sit down to actually write something, I just want to close the tab.

I have it on very good authority that I’m manic right now.

Imagine that, right? The chick with a website named Taste Like CRAZY might actually not be joking.

Since I have that whole Cyclothymic Disorder thing, I’m bound to cycle through “highs” and “lows” but since I don’t track them like I should, I don’t remember my last “down” time and I don’t remember my last “up” time. Since I have the short term memory of a retarded goldfish [No, really I do. I’ve been tested.] it’s not surprising to me that I can’t remember my mood swings. Hell. I’d be hard pressed to remember what I made for dinner last night.

Grandiose plans?

Check.

I decided last night that I was going to become an actor. An actor who cannot remember anything for more than five minutes so how the hell am I going to remember lines?

Increased activity?

Check.

I made a five pound roast today for dinner complete with homemade braided bread and I put together dinner for tomorrow. Not that dinner isn’t a normal thing for me but the thoughts that I was having while I was making dinner weren’t normal. My plan was to go through all of the meat that we bought and to pre-make the entire week’s meals and then freeze them and just imagine all of the time that I would have for writing and sewing?!!!

Yeah. I don’t sew.

Some of you are reading this and thinking, “How are Cara and Ollie going to feel about everyone at their school knowing that their mom is crazy?!”

Well, right now, I’d tell you that it’s a fact of life and anyone who spends more than five minutes with me is bound to figure out that I’m not exactly “normal”.

Next week, if I’m feeling low, then I’d probably consider deleting every time that I’ve mentioned not being sane. And that would be a mistake and damn stupid.

First and foremost, I write because I want to write. Because I need to write. Because I’ve always written.

It might not have been on a computer. It might have been in about 20 different unfinished paper journals, but I have always written.

And while I won’t say that I’m writing my website for them [since don’t I do enough for them already, can’t I have something that’s just for me?] I will say that I hope that both Cara and Ollie read all of this one day.

My own mom is a mystery to me.

I know that she wasn’t always as angry as she sometimes seems now. Woman’s had a hard ass life and I get that but I also wish that I could have read about her life when she and my dad first adopted me and when she was happy.

I wish that I could read her words and understand her a little better.

So. You made it all the way down here, did ya?

Good for you.

I’m impressed with not only you, but with me too. I didn’t think that I was actually going to write anything today.

Go me.

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