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The mania conspired to keep me from blogging (too many other things to do, do, do, do), to keep me from you, dear reader. But the truth is I’m less than poetic these days. My poetic plays consist of trazodone-induced neurological blunders, inverting numbers, declaring opposites. All of that is now gone and in its place, a void. A sleepless, hapless place that dreams and thoughts and intentions can’t seem to fill. I’m pretentious not pious. There’s nothing to see here.
He summons me on stage
Let’s do a runthrough
He welcomes my impromptus
the dancing grooves of my pulsing neurons that say
YES, YES, YES
with good humor
a sort of warm embrace if we embraced
co-mingled with the excitement of the next best show
coming to town
he know he’ll be in the front row
free VIP just because he knows me
always cheering at the end
pitying me at the end
wanting an encore.
I’m happy to oblige.
Believe it or not, people don’t think of me as particularly brash.
Perhaps pessimistic but I’ve been called many a time “happy go lucky,” which is ironic and sad because I am not happy or lucky and I don’t like to go anywhere.
Or as Bryan would say, I’m only happy when I’m in my dark place. If I’m not in my dark place, Bryan says I’m manic. When I’m convinced I want a dog as big as me, Bryan says I’m manic…but encourages me just the same (fodder for his good time, you know). When I tell Bryan I have a new boyfriend after one date, he says, “of course you do, Manic One.” When I don’t stay in bed all day, Bryan says I’m manic.
I do not feel manic. I feel tremors. I’ve grown weary of roller coasters. I’d prefer a flat-line (except of course when I’m flat-lined, I hate it).
Recipe for Mania
- 7 caffeinated beverages or approximately 88 oz. of sugar sweetness throughout the day, with three of them coming before 9 a.m.
- Wake up at 3:30 a.m.
- Know for sure this is going to be the longest day ever
- Not be completely prepared for your workshops later that day
- Have to be “on” for your workshops with the children
- Have a mood disorder
- Tell your friend to tell your former friend about your exploits
- See your recovering aunt and boss her around
- Optional: add in another caffeinated beverage
Recipe for sad-to-not-have-much-to-blog-about
- Complete recipe for mania
- Counteract with a “pinch” (your definition) of Benadryl
- Wake up at 5:15 a.m., cold with a sore shoulder
- Try desperately to go back to sleep, sleep off and on for 2 hours
- Be groggy and un-alert
- Be amused with your dating prospects but not feeling the strength to write a witty blog, though your dating prospects are witty and you know you are capable of creating such a blog and you know that your creating such a blog is inevitable
- Consider that you are still in the throes of your recipe for mania and instead of not thinking enough, you are thinking too much. From one thing to the next. Typing bulleted points furiously
- Wonder if you should end bulleted points with a period or not but then wonder if it’s that important, will readers really care? Probably not, right
- Contemplate crackers and lunch methodically
- “Bewitch” your nose intermittedly
- Write down thoughts absurd and ridiculous and uninteresting because there’s nothing left to do and you have to get this out, out, out
Some blog titles demand punctuation.
Some would describe me as “manic.” Just because I have a weird energy and an unfocused look about me. Fine. Say it. I’m meeting the menz again. At least online. Go me, I say. Do what you do, as Mr. Whitier would say (B, you should get this reference to Chuck P’s Haunted). Who knows how I’ll feel about it in 10 minutes but for now, it feels good to be moving. It’s a relief to feel like I’m doing something to move on.
Two other things of note: 1) I hate conferences that are boring and have uncomfortable chairs. Not just uncomfortable because they are stiff, but because they are too tall for me. I’m trying to be a professional and all and then I’m having to swing my legs all the day long, looking so elementary school. 2) My knee hurts. Something else was supposed to go here but I can’t remember what it was. Probably because, as some would say, I’m “manic.” OH! I remember, my #2 note was that my right tonsil is nut-sack big and has not shrunk over the last few weeks, despite antibiotics and other medications. What to do, what to do.
Ramblings of a Medicated Lady: Words of Woe by Loria Taylor 
Your Sympathies: