So apparently I’m a menace to myself and others (as per my own assessment), and as such am signing up for counseling again. You know it’s gotta be good when you’re exhibiting 3/4 of the symptoms for depression AND bipolar disorder, including symptoms that contradict one another. So perhaps it’s about time to assess what’s really going on, hmm?
That aside, I’m feeling optimistic. Maybe that’s the euphoria talking, but I won’t pretend I don’t like it. My tarot readings website is almost ready to go up, I’m ready for Halloween, I’m joining a writer’s group and I just got some new black pumps and two pairs of cigarette pants that I love: one shiny, black and leathery, one red plaid/tartan. On the plus side, I’m keeping my splurging to a minimum (or trying). And I do have a ton of work/homework, but I’m hoping my hobbies will keep it in balance.
I like this song, and it won’t leave me be. Listen.
♫ The National – Apartment Story
I’m still not writing as often as I should (granted it’s been a rough week in terms of workload). I’d like to devote at least an hour a day, or maybe I’d do better with a couple hours three times a week. I have so many things to write about, and just don’t commit.
I like this photo. It reminds me of home, somehow. Good old northern British Columbia, where the sky is always off-colour and fastened to the rooftops. These balloons are dark like the kind I’d find in the living room on New Year’s Eve, with jovial slogans in silver lettering, or at one of my teenage birthday parties after I’d outgrown vibrancy. Helium was always a rare thing, though. There were no means for it, no room for the inconvenience, no need or desire for something so free. Our balloons were always illusory, attached to the light fixtures or deer horns or curtain rods. High as could be. Tethered.
Interesting, that.
