Bipolar Gestalt


At 4:20 yesterday I realized I meant to say Of Mice and Men, not Grapes of Wrath in yesterday’s post. No one caught it, which makes me think either none of you are reading close enough, you’re all enamored with my writing and just buzzed past it, or like me, the literature of the 1930s kind of blends into one sepia toned novel for you and just you plain forgot. Regardless, it was in Of Mice and Men that George came into play. Correction issued. Took some effort to NOT come back out here at 4:21 and correct my post. Seems I’m making progress.

Well, I’ve done it. I filled in and sent out the online form to see this counseling center I’m supposed to go to. Supposed to hear from them within 48 hours. As soon as I hit the ‘send’ button, hysterical laughter started bubbling up in me. I haven’t laughed hysterically – in the OLD sense of the word – since I was a kid. I know it’s nerves. Doesn’t help. I really am one of those people who might laugh at loud at funerals or other inappropriate times and situations. I hate it; it makes me seem either like an insensitive mother fucker or just a completely crazy woman. I don’t think I fall into either extremity.  What was so funny? Just the thought of how people’s faces look when I tell them everything I manage to write down with a straight face. The depression, the suicidal thoughts, the all consuming mania, the not sleeping, the problems with my mother and sister…Mountains out of molehills, that’s all I kept thinking – that nothing I go through is a big deal, I’m just a whiner and a loser and not strong enough to deal on a daily basis with life. I don’t have a condition; I’m just a fucking wimp. All that sympathy and empathy and understanding that I don’t deserve…

Got me so wound up my brother told me to smoke more. Yes, I was encouraged to blow a few fatties yesterday to try and settle down. I know I got it bad when my bro tells me to fire up and chill out…especially after I’ve been firing up and chilling out for hours already.

Didn’t want to walk too much; my poor feet just don’t want to do it. I did get out – gorgeous autumn day, everything you could want and SO much more – for a short walk to see George and the gang. I’ve made up my mind to see if I can train George to do a few tricks. Then I’ll get some video of us together. 🙂 Just that thought blew away all my worries over the counseling center and made me smile. George is good medicine.

Decided I’m gonna stop talking about what I DON’T get done right now. Been moving my schedule around, trying to find the right combination of rest, work, and play that works for me right now. Today I’m trying out a lane swim from noon to 1. Maybe it will work for me, maybe I’ll be facing *vomit* soft hairy belly flesh against my foot. I won’t know til I do it at least once. It can’t be worse than Sunday swims, it just can’t be. Of course this means my two swim days are back to back; not ideal by a long shot. But until I get strong enough to swim full out for an hour and THEN go and be alert in language class for another two hours afterwards, Monday’s open swim is my best bet for two times in pool each week. *sigh* Then there’s working in language stuff, and making sure I really DO get on the floor for abdominals and not just keep talking about it. Right now I feel like my plate is full with dealing with my physical health and learning Dutch. The two issues are crowding everything else out. Trying to let that be okay, to let the afternoons drip by without adding word one to a page. The words I do put on a page seem skeletal, lacking any flesh or substance. They’re exercises in writing, not writing with flow. I don’t know if my back burner pot has overflowed or just run dry, but it feels like there’s NOTHING going on in my brain. That area has gone to sleep for now. Makes me a little sad; I don’t know when it will come back. I AM confident it will come back, which is a good place to be in if you gotta be in a dry spell. We’ll see if I can keep my confidence through the entire siege of creativity.

Gonna try to smash this open with sound. That was my advice to AndrewS from notalkingcure, so I’d be a real putz to not take heed to my own words. Sound or color; doesn’t matter. I’ll try another art form for a while, something I don’t have such high expectations for what the end result will be. And who knows? Maybe I was wrong in an earlier post when I said music stops when words flow but words don’t stop when music comes. Maybe I just wasn’t listening. Not that I hear music in my head, mind you. I am NOT that kind of musician (my brother is, and claims to write songs in his dreams – I am jealous of that). There’s just a silence that’s created into which I can make sound happen. An opening, if you will, to put my own shout of music in. No idea if that’s where I’m at; silence is silence and doesn’t speak volumes to me. I must heal by the hands on method – and this IS the freaky part of what I do when I write music. I close my eyes and just use my ears. When I finally have a sound shaped that inspires me to play something, I just put my fingers down and listen for the pattern. I don’t think about keys or chords or anything like that. Guess I sort of tease the sound out of the air. Like I catch a thread and start to pull and then pop! the song comes out. It’s only later, when I arrange the song that I think about keys and chords and all that shit. Which makes it difficult, because I’m known to write in modes, which is just way over my head theory-wise. Ach. Like I got around to clearing up the roughs I’ve already got going from the last time I did this! I haven’t. That IS where I should start. And I won’t.

I’m down on my knees with gratitude to Blahpolar from blah blah blahpolar for the picture today. Made me look like a musical archangel; how cool is that? I squealed like a little girl at a slumber party when I open up my emails and saw Blah’s gift. I even got a selection – this isn’t the only one. Oh, Blah! Seems your pictures were my reminder to return to the source of sound today. I may not have eaten your brain with fava beans and nice chianti yet, but it sure seems we’ve got an IV drip going between us or something. Must be tapped into that bipolar gestalt.


16 thoughts on “Bipolar Gestalt

    1. I think he already kind of is. I’m not ready to have an animal friend in my life full time. Still nursing the pain from my last love. But seeing George every day – I can now pick him out of the crowd – is a real pick-me-up. Just have to be careful. I noticed when I fed everyone yesterday, the Alpha Duck (what a whale of a duck!) was nipping at George because I favor him. Geez! Can the ducks dance out my past better? No. I identify SO strongly with George right now; that sensitive intelligence that is both followed and hated by the masses.

      Perhaps I should try to meet George on the sly. How can I arrange a clandestine meeting with a duck?


  1. Lololol up off your knees, woman. While I was cutting and pasting, I was pondering beeps and beats and nightclub/rave atmosphere and warmth (I had to get archaeological with my own past). And wings, well, who doesn’t love wings? Interesting that my favourite literary character has had his cut off, hmmm. There were pretty much always wings with pretty queer boys strapped to them back when *peering dimly behind me* eh, what was I saying young lady… Rofl. And by all that I mean – you’re welcome.

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      1. Yagharek from Perdido Street Station, who had his wings cut off as punishment for a truly heinous crime (rape). I identify with the wings bit and with his exile and subsequent journey. Usually I’d say my favourite characters was Èomer from LoTR, but that’d be me in a good mood, which I ain’t. In terms of comics, Death in Gaiman’s Sandman series probably.

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  2. How on earth do you resist editing?! I edit until I’m sick of myself, and still there are errors! And and and you filled out the form! I’m so happy and proud and relieved. I know that was hard to do, and I know it’s about to get harder. But you’ve gotten past the big hurdle of filling out the form and putting yourself out there. You’ve got this. 🙂

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    1. Thanks, Steph. I’m … I was gonna say glad I got through the form, but that’s not right. I guess I’m relieved I finally did it. Been worried that I’d fall into depression before reaching out and once I’m there I won’t do anything to help myself. Now was the time to do it.

      Ach! Editing. Yeah, I’ve done that: edit and edit and edit. No more. I edit for typos and obvious grammar screw ups that I don’t want. I read for flow. A story has either got it or it doesn’t got it. Editing won’t fix the ‘doesn’t got it’. Hells bells, I “edited” my novel 9 fucking times, re-writing and re-writing, cutting and pasting. I don’t know that it’s stronger for all that work. And if editing isn’t making something stronger, then what the hell are you doing?

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      1. My blogging has helped. I’ve put the VANS into my writing, you know? Attitude all the fucking way. You don’t want to publish it? Oh, fuck your pansy ass! Then you don’t DESERVE it. 😉

        Liked by 1 person

      2. Okay, I’m just gonna confess something right here: I googled the everlovingshit out of VANS to see what that’s an acronym for. I didn’t want to admit I had no idea what you meant! Well, google didn’t know either. Help meh!

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      3. Oh hell, I know what THOSE vans are! Ahahaha I can be such a dummy. 😀

        Ohmygosh…podiatrist says I can’t wear Converse anymore. But Vans! Vans! They have better soles…maybe there’s a solution here 😀

        Liked by 1 person

      4. Oh, yeah! Killer support. You gotta break ’em in, tho. Wore mine while watching tv for 8 months before they were ready to walk. Mine are dyin’ now. VAN stores aplenty here (LOVE that) but then I gotta break ’em in again. Guess I should start…

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  3. lol! Ah, yeah. Like I said: 1930s lit becomes this sepia toned mass of pulp…all kind of runs together. And I’m not on meds!

    No idea on who gets their wings cut off..Blah must pony up on the info.

    Liked by 1 person

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