Shithouse rat

I'm a bipolar writer in the Naked City. I'm not playing with a full deck. I don't have all my dots on the dice. My cheese is sliding off my cracker. I don't have both oars in the water. I'm a bubble off plum. In other words, I'm crazier than a shithouse rat. These are my stories. Comments--short or long, nasty or nice--always welcome!

Tuesday, October 03, 2006

Who would have thought...

I'd do the same thing I always believed was so uncool to do as a blogger--at least by my own "lofty" standards--namely, not answer comments and just let the blog slide away...

Firstly, I am grateful to Walker and all others who took the time to comment during my absence, and I'm sorry I haven't responded. I do appreciate the feedback immensely.

Thing is, though I'm a member of the Bipolar Planet webring, looking back I don't think the majority of my posts dealt overmuch with my disorder. When I get depressed, rather than talk about it I tend to withdraw altogether. This time, my decline was not with a bang, or even a whimper. I didn't become psychotic, or have to be hospitalized. But it seems I hit a point where I just devolved into zombification. I lost my enthusiasm and drive for writing and most everything else.

In any event, I feel a bit more hopeful now because my Manhattan coop, which I co-own with my ex-boyfriend G, is finally on the market, after over a year of prepping it. But of course now the housing market has taken a downturn, so who knows how long it may take to sell. Talk about your lousy timing. And to top it off, G and I are at odds on the asking price--he's insisted on pricing it higher than I think is wise, and after reading endless real estate blogs and articles this seems like the cardinal no-no in a declining market.

Oy vey, just writing about it is putting me into a funk. More later, hopefully...