The art of lethargy
My "writing" brain may not be up to par right now, but my "dreaming" brain certainly has been in overdrive. For a very long time, I've had nightmares about my old jobs, especially the position I had in my twenties with a very exacting but often charming boss. Although sadly he died of AIDS decades ago, he still lives on in my dreams, where I frequently find myself unable to perform my job. Since under his employ I went through one hospitalization, two major depressions and a pretty intense hypomanic episode, I still re-experience the shame of those times when all I wanted was to please my boss but couldn't. Very unpleasant and disturbing.
Definite progress is being made in the excruciatingly drawn out process of getting the coop that I co-own with my ex-boyfriend sold. My ex is a compulsive buyer and consummate slob, so it took months to get his junk sold or discarded, and the rest stored (about 73 cartons worth of CDs, DVDs, and assorted ephemera) with a storage company. I just shelled out the bucks to have the place professionally cleaned, and met with a realtor the other day. Now we have to get some of the furniture scrapped, get some maintenance done, and get the place painted before it can be shown. This moment has been years in the making, so that has distracted me from writing as well.
Shit happens. I've been in a writing slump, which is part of the shit that happens when you're bipolar. I'm no longer in a hypomanic mode where the words and ideas just flow effortlessly. It may also be the meds, but I feel very lethargic about writing--even e-mailing. This is normally not the kind of post I would offer up, but it's about the best I can do right now.
I appreciate the comments on the last post so much. I will try to get my shit together and write a real post soon.