... a strange pain inside ... ?

imagine if, when you started your car each morning, it would either rev up really high, just racing, racing ... or not start at all. in each case, you'd find it impossible to use this car to transport yourself reliably to your destination, wouldn't you? such a car seems non-functional, really.

well, if you can imagine ... that's what bipolar feels like ~ no baseline, just red-lining it, or inert. confusion, and cloudiness, linger. can i really, objectively, analyze the workings of my own mind and its chemistry? there's the rub.

somehow creative genius and madness seem to hold hands, in some dark shadows of existence. does the force of creative genius create a strange pain inside ... leading the individual to madness? or maybe creative genius and madness exist as siamese twins, inseparable ... fused to one another?

	Nirvana - Lithium
	Found at bee mp3 search engine

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happiness - a choice or a destination?

	Gerry Rafferty - Baker Street
	Found at bee mp3 search engine

a dear friend
- a very wise, dear friend -
said to me one evening,
'happiness is a choice.'
i pondered this statement a while.
it seems to me
that so many of us live our lives
as though an ultimate destination or nirvana
will appear before us in a cloak of happiness.
do we suffer through the purgatory,
the protestant work ethic, and the bondage
of a profit-driven, capitalist society
in exchange for the grand prize of 'happiness' ... ?
or do we create our own
trickles and droplets of happiness,
which eventually pool into some cool-running stream
and flows through our existence?
try something. mindfulness - awareness.
savour the small details
over which you normally gloss.

how do you see happiness?
a choice?
a destination?

holding on

	Steve Winwood - Holding On
	Found at bee mp3 search engine

i am 39 and holding.
holding? holding what?
... well ... everything.
and then ... slowly,
i begin realizing that
i cannot hold onto everything
forever.
children exist for a purpose
beyond the realm of their parents.
and, sometimes,
marriages dissolve.
i will turn 40 this year.
how did i get here, so soon?
and ...
did i ever imagine myself,
at 40,
prowling the dating scene?
i gasp, then sigh,
as i limp back
to my own forgotten base
like a damaged warplane.

Bipolar Type 2 - I am

the stitch-ripper

Those who sew will agree that sewing stitches into any piece feels far easier that ripping said stitches out of said piece. It's sort of how love and life seem, ain't it? It goes without saying that the tighter the sewn stitch, the greater the difficulty in removing it, and the greater the likelihood of needle-poke scarring. And then, on re-stitching we find that the constitution of the fabric has weakened from that recent trauma. This makes cupid's sewing task more difficult.

Cupid is hard @ work here ...

... it feels good ...

could i be her?

Could I be like her?

Feel like her?

You know what's most painful

about a major break-up?

Not belonging.

I have, for so long,

defined myself by those around me -

someone's wife ... someones' mother ... someones' nurse ...

and, after all these years

of achieving meaning thru the lives of others,

I now ask myself who am I?

Who the fuck is Frizzy?

Oh to be like the redhead in that photo -

she looks to me like she belongs there,

like she's got a destination, a meaning.

photo taken by -the krazy genius-