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Okay, so.
I NEED TO GET INTERNET. My internet is not keeping up with the speed of my needs right now. HOWEVER. This will have to wait in favour of the fact that I currently cannot. fucking. stop. moving. long enough to even THINK.
In case I EVER doubted I was bipolar (I never did) the last four days kind of conclusively proves it.
1) Talking at my dad for an hour about a business plan? CHECK.
2) Consistently feeding off of and driving![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
apiphile's own upswing? CHECK (as far as I know.)
3) Coming up with The Most Awesome Plan Ever withgraeae yesterday? CHECK.
4) Obsessions? CHECK.
5) Crashing so fucking hard all relevant nights? CHECK.
6) Inability to tolerate about half my music; speech very clipped and stuttered? CHECK.
7) Swinging right back into it right now? CHECK.
Let me tell you, I am TIIIIIIRED. I am also more than a little frustrated by the feeling that I am a spectator in my own head - AGAIN - because I got off the drugs because I didn't want to feel that way ever again.
Boo. My brain chemistry has LET ME DOWN, people, it has FAILED ME. I have not yet reached the point of self-trepanning, but I NEED THIS TO STOP.
Which: I don't know if I can stop it. I mean, I don't think I'll be buying land in Mexico or thinking I can fly, but seriously, I am just riding around in my head and my other parts of brain are doing shit that I know not wot of. So, yeah. It SUCKS SO MUCH. I can't CONCENTRATE. Like, if I could use this to write fic, write Slot Machine Prophet, write something for the Sekrit Plan, write a website, write job applications, call an author, ANYTHING, I would be FINE with it. But no, instead, I have a list of things to do that, in execution, is gonna look like a fucking Tigger, because I AM BOUNCING ALL OVER THE PLACE.
I hate this and I want it to stop and I don't know HOW to stop it without actually putting myself into a coma - it is possible that the cup of chamomile I had yesterday basically knocked me out - and THAT WON'T WORK.
So ... that happened.
ANYWAY!
The point of this post is threefold.
1) Does anyone on my flist have a Scribblit code they're willing to part with? I understand it's still code-only - if this is wrong, feel free to point and laugh atgraeae.
2) THIS IS THE BEST THING EVER. I am in love with Obama almost as much as Rahm. And an explanation: Barack Obama is tired of this.
3) If you see me going somewhere with extreme purpose and a glassy look in my eyes, please shoot me. I'm TIIIIRED. And I slept FOREVER last night.
Bonus fourth thing!
4) I make everyone (at least two people and maybe three) laugh at rape. GO ME! I still need to try to write down the jokes I know for someone who needs to convince idiots, but LET'S FACE IT: Typing is one of your mortal tasks, and I DO NOT OPERATE ON THE MORTAL PLANE, FOOLS.
ALSO: See subject line: I want to make a tag or something of "VINCE DOESN'T LIVE HERE, BITCH," but the all-caps would probably fuck up the scheme, and also, I wouldn't remember what it meant.
I NEED TO GET INTERNET. My internet is not keeping up with the speed of my needs right now. HOWEVER. This will have to wait in favour of the fact that I currently cannot. fucking. stop. moving. long enough to even THINK.
In case I EVER doubted I was bipolar (I never did) the last four days kind of conclusively proves it.
1) Talking at my dad for an hour about a business plan? CHECK.
2) Consistently feeding off of and driving
apiphile's own upswing? CHECK (as far as I know.)3) Coming up with The Most Awesome Plan Ever with
graeae yesterday? CHECK.4) Obsessions? CHECK.
5) Crashing so fucking hard all relevant nights? CHECK.
6) Inability to tolerate about half my music; speech very clipped and stuttered? CHECK.
7) Swinging right back into it right now? CHECK.
Let me tell you, I am TIIIIIIRED. I am also more than a little frustrated by the feeling that I am a spectator in my own head - AGAIN - because I got off the drugs because I didn't want to feel that way ever again.
Boo. My brain chemistry has LET ME DOWN, people, it has FAILED ME. I have not yet reached the point of self-trepanning, but I NEED THIS TO STOP.
Which: I don't know if I can stop it. I mean, I don't think I'll be buying land in Mexico or thinking I can fly, but seriously, I am just riding around in my head and my other parts of brain are doing shit that I know not wot of. So, yeah. It SUCKS SO MUCH. I can't CONCENTRATE. Like, if I could use this to write fic, write Slot Machine Prophet, write something for the Sekrit Plan, write a website, write job applications, call an author, ANYTHING, I would be FINE with it. But no, instead, I have a list of things to do that, in execution, is gonna look like a fucking Tigger, because I AM BOUNCING ALL OVER THE PLACE.
I hate this and I want it to stop and I don't know HOW to stop it without actually putting myself into a coma - it is possible that the cup of chamomile I had yesterday basically knocked me out - and THAT WON'T WORK.
So ... that happened.
ANYWAY!
The point of this post is threefold.
1) Does anyone on my flist have a Scribblit code they're willing to part with? I understand it's still code-only - if this is wrong, feel free to point and laugh at
graeae.2) THIS IS THE BEST THING EVER. I am in love with Obama almost as much as Rahm. And an explanation: Barack Obama is tired of this.
3) If you see me going somewhere with extreme purpose and a glassy look in my eyes, please shoot me. I'm TIIIIRED. And I slept FOREVER last night.
Bonus fourth thing!
4) I make everyone (at least two people and maybe three) laugh at rape. GO ME! I still need to try to write down the jokes I know for someone who needs to convince idiots, but LET'S FACE IT: Typing is one of your mortal tasks, and I DO NOT OPERATE ON THE MORTAL PLANE, FOOLS.
ALSO: See subject line: I want to make a tag or something of "VINCE DOESN'T LIVE HERE, BITCH," but the all-caps would probably fuck up the scheme, and also, I wouldn't remember what it meant.
