Can I, Will I, Ever Get “Over” It?

         I was just having a lie-down about an hour ago.  Since I haven’t been out of bed all that terribly long, and since I do that somewhat often, I have to think I’m seriously flirting with clinical depression.  It seems to be that, or aging in some kind of speed tunnel.


        Night before last, I went to a support group meeting called Bipolar Bears.  I don’t know that I qualify in any kind of way as a bear, but it’s the others who are also bipolar that I am seeking when I go there.  I’ve been dancing with this illness long enough to know there are certain things I can do to help myself with it.


         As fate would have it, I found myself sharing that Recovery, Inc. had helped me before, and so reminded myself, again, that actually I should be using it now.


        It didn’t take long for me to realize that, apparently, my body had not called me to the position I was in to sleep, and so I thought, “why don’t I check out whether or not I have an example I should be going through.  I was just about to crow (internally) that I hadn’t yet worked myself up when I remembered the first conversation I’d had with Maxine this morning.  D#*n!


         Between striving daily to drink a gallon plus of water, being so ___, ____ aged, starting to drink teas and cranberry juice additionally, being way older than dirt, not cutting off the eating and drinking early enough before bed for my advanced age, and being seriously old, I enjoy the distinct pleasure of getting up several times in the night.


         Usually I’m up putting together Maxine’s pills, ice water and breakfast, opening the blinds and front door, tending to the cat’s needs, desires and particularities; then out the door for a walk, around 4:30 AM, so she can ease into her chair, and restore herself nearly immediate to her rising between 5 and 6 AM.       


           This morning was one of a distinct few when I took care of things earlier, 3:30 AM.  I was happy to have awakened then, (and beat her up and out) because she had mentioned a friend was planning to pick her up “early”.  After several attempts at clarification, it sounded like she would be picked up around 8 AM.  Since she had prefaced that by saying she’d be getting up early, I knew, from the things I’ve shared in previous posts, that could be anywhere from a few minutes after she went to bed to regular getting up time.


            And as regards what I did?  I went back to bed at 3:45, no tending cats, no going on a walk.  That would have been the coolest part of the day, but if you’ve ever lived a summer in Phoenix, coolest is a cruel joke in July.  I confess:  in somewhere near thirty years, I’ve never gotten used to the heat.


             I think you deserve to know, I hope you care to know, I enjoyed three hours undisturbed sleep.


            When I’d tended to my ablutions, et. al., and walked out to greet Maxine for the day, just like the mini Cooper, I went from 0 to 60 in 7 seconds.  It wasn’t anything big deal.  Even I can see that as I sit quietly at my desk, unmolested by “my threat to social self”.  She had merely made some remark about how I’d been sleeping.  I clearly don’t think I should be sleeping, if she’s awake, but that is definitely my problem.


             Oh, when, Oh, when, will I get over myself?


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