This is becoming the most boring blog in the world.
depressed depressed depressed depressed
oh, and did I mention depressed?
People, like at the Garden, say they've seen me happy and sad. Does that mean I'm bipolar or I just have moods--like all human beings?
Am I "rapid cycling" when I go from one mood to another so quickly?
Is there a medication that could stop all of this craziness, or would stopping all the medication be better?
Someone said I think about it too much. And maybe I do. But I forget things frequently that I can't miss it--another friend walked around the garden with me while I tried to wash my brushes and get clean water for my painting and she seriously had to walk AROUND the garden with me: oops, forgot the cups, oops, left the coffee mug on the porch, oops, need more water, oops, didn't get my oatmeal yet, oops don't know where my wallet is--God I hope it's at home. (I confirmed later that it was.)
I don't know why today was such a sad heart day--was it because I didn't get out of the house til 11, was it because I missed yoga, was it because I didn't eat enough, was it because I was worried about spending too much or too little time with a variety of people? There was a point (OK several) today when I had actual tears in my eyes.
Geesh. Beautiful day, sunny skies, lots of painting done, talked to friends, played with Tea Cup... nothing to complain about. Even yesterday I got to have lunch with a good friend who I haven't seen in a long time and we had fun and I bought a book at a used bookstore.
Then, Justin stopped by the Garden on his way home and pointed out that today is Wednesday and we've seen each other awake for one hour since Sunday. He's waking up at 3:30 these days so that he can be at the ObGyn clinic in scrubs by 4:30. And on Friday night he's on call. He caught his first baby all by himself (well, you know, surrounded by doctors and nurses and the dad who cried and cut the cord) yesterday, and he called to tell me. He worried about calling me a bit, but he likes to share the good and the bad with me--we are communicators.
So maybe that's it. Hug deprivation. I'm a hugging kind of girl and stuffed animals or tiny puppies or other people's babies aren't quite enough.
So I'm going to sleep now (he already is), and he'll wake up in four hours, and I'll wake in seven and I'll do yoga and decide whether I think the Department of Defense really cares about my opinion of their mental health services. (Which I know are essentially worthless.) I already know they don't care, I already know the Task Force is a formality, and I already know I don't actually want to spend my whole day listening to those stupid people.
But maybe I do. Maybe they will listen. Maybe I'm not even cynical enough yet to skip voting in this election. But still, maybe I'll only go to the part where I'd get to talk, instead of all 13 hours.
My highs are not ever high enough for me to be bipolar. It's called a good day. It's called happy, maybe a little hyper or overzealous, but not manic. I never think I'm invincible and I'm never not tired when I stay awake too late because I'm doing something. I'm just stuck doing things and don't really want to stop until it's finished. I'll by a little obssessive and maybe compulsive, but that's it.
I hope kids show up for story hour tomorrow.
By the way, Justin has ruled out ObGyn as his specialty. He says it will get boring--already is: Pap smears, looking at slides, telling people, "No, you're not ready to have the baby yet, come back when you're in labor. No, your water didn't break, you just peed a little." But he said the baby catching is "wierd." There are several stressful hours of very loud and uncomfortable labor, then there are a few minutes of "wow! the miracle of life! There's the head! the arms! the whole healthy baby!" Then the dad cuts the cord and it's over and there's paper work to do.
I just want to see it happen at least once in my life.
OK, scatterbrain. Good night moon! (and why IS there a bowl of mush in the bedroom? Is it really just to rhyme with hush?)