It has been a while since I posted, not because I have not wanted to post, but I have just been in this mood, which, by the way, has lifted. I am feeling much better. Yeah! I am seeing a therapist. Yep, he is cool, but he doesn’t think medication is such a good idea. What the fuck, I have bipolar and when I go off the medication I have urges that can not be controlled, urges like shopping until I have written more hot checks than can be counted and charging up all the credit cards to the limit and borrowing more money from anyone who doesn’t recognize that I am manic. Plus, yes there is a plus, I go nuts buying the same thing like five tv sets, or seven chopper/slicer thingies. So, medication is a must to keep me from doing that crazy manic thing. So, the therapist and I are in this tug of war, okay, I’ll give you two of my xanax a day but that’s it, no more. He is wanting to take me down about 600 mg of trilipital, well, he has never seen me off of that drug. It’s the really good one that keeps me sane. But, on the bright side, he has taught me how to do relaxation techniques, which do wonders to release that stress and he is pushing me toward body massages and aroma therapy, not by him, no, the masseuse is a physical therapist at a clinic. He says that this man is like the best in the world in finding those pressure points that are keeping me all stressed up and so I’m going to give it a whirl. The aroma therapy, well, I’m going to try it too. I mean, I have to get healthy, right?
I am reading the Iliad in hopes of finding something that I can use to write my research project paper on in my Ovid class this fall. I only have a couple of weeks to turn in my idea. I thought, I’d read Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey and then re read the Metamorphosis and see what comes up. Since, Ovid was so influenced by Homer and the other Greeks, well; it seems that if I am going to write something, might as well start at the beginning. Who knows? It might even be that I’ll write on the effects that Ovid had on present day writers or writers like Chaucer or Shakespeare. I just don’t know.
And why is it so fucking hot outside? I swear, when I take Baby to the park, it’s like a fucking oven and then I sit in the shade and every few minutes call him over to rehydrate his little body with Gatorade or Kool-Aid or water. He just runs nonstop. Today,, swimming, yes, no getting hot for me. And the cicadas are singing. I hate those loud creatures, they are never ending. We hear them from the end of June until it turns cool in September. At least at night, the tree frogs make a nice song and it makes the summers doable.