The Twilight Zone

I applied for the job driving the disabled around town in a little bus. I applied online last week. I tried and tried to call the guy who was listed on Craigslist but it went into voice mail and he didn't return my call.

So, thinking I better go to the next level, I started calling them using the number I found when I googled their headquarters. It didn't work when asked to "Press 3 for employment opportunities."

I took a huge step and drove to their HQ over lunch. "I applied online but just wanted to follow up," I told the gruff, fat guy who wasn't a real welcoming.

"You can't apply online," he said.

WTF??? I applied for the job online, or I applied for something else online? No way, I applied for that job online. I also told him his number didn't direct me properly. I told the guy and he didn't care.

I took an application home and I'm going for it. I'll return it tomorrow with Mia in tow. I need to go for this job because I'm dying on the vine here. I hate this job!

Thursday:
I got up at 6 am, filled out the application, including my age and everywhere I'd lived in the last 7 years, and decided to drive over and drop it off. I left home at 7:15, got there at 7:30, and the HR guy wasn't there. I was due to be at the food bank at 8:00 so time was of the essence.

Instead, I met with the General Manager named Paul. It was brief but I felt lucky to have had that face-to-face. Why the hell do I have to put down where I'd lived for the last seven years?

Then I made it to the food bank 16 minutes late after being told it had to be no less than 15 minutes late, rushed home, put the groceries away, made it to therapy with 3 minutes to spare, had a great session, and off to Steph's to go shopping with her and Mia.

Mia and I went swimming. She loves playing in the wet sand on the beach. After that we went back to her place and both took a long nap.

While all of this was going on, I was getting more and more intrigued, and worried, and obsessed with what is going on with Peggy.

I went into it at length with my therapist. I told her about the "chance meeting" at 47th and Upton and she said it was TBTBF. (too bizarre to be fiction). Now I have something real to write about if only I knew what was real.

Let the summer begin!

It was a Sunday so I deserved a break. Okay, so I can't say that with conviction but I took the day off. I had taken care of  Mia and slept over at her house the night before, falling asleep relatively early, waking up at 6 am and ready to take on my one day off on this holiday weekend.

It was time for a photo-op bike ride. I wasn't out for anything in particular, though I'm moving from smaller canvases to large ones. I figured I'd take several, pick out a few candidates, find a frame that was pre-matted and 2' X 3' or so, creating a wall hanging that cost about $20.

Minnehaha Falls was running high still almost a week after 2' of rain fell on the Twin Cities. It's a 15 mile drive and felt good to be out there among the elements that early in the morning.

I don't know that I ever hit a day when the tree blossoms were at a more perfect peak than this day.

I even took the time to walk the mile down the trail at the bottom of the falls to see where Minnehaha Creek empties into the Mississippi River.

I love taking close-ups of flowers...

I don't know what type of tree this is but it's durned perty, ain't it?

And as part of a tradition I just made up, I went swimming in Lake Calhoun after taking this selfie. It wasn't a long swim but the water was surprisingly tolerable considering that a month ago it was almost still iced over.

I was pretty mindful during this venture, which was a few hours in duration. I would have had more fun but my phone went dead so I wasn't able to listen to Pandora or MPR on I Heart Radio.

Now I'm off to work today, Memorial Day, and I have to admit I thought I was above working the holidays. At least I have a job, amirite?

Let the summer begin. When I went on POF.com I thought it would be so cool to have a summer relationship. Careful what you wish for, Stephen.

Dear Lord make the decision an easy one again

My net pay for the past pay week was $218. My rent alone is $720. I have $36.50 taken out for health insurance each week. Is that a benefit provided by the company? That means I take home 65% of my gross. At $12.50/hour driving a "Metro Mobility Bus," with the same lousy insurance I'd take home $325/week and I can live on that if I have no purchases, repairs, days off, medical bills, etc. in other words I would be able to survive, barring acts of God.

My paycheck showed 46 hours worked, my minimum amount I'm scheduled to work. I always come in early. I went to HR and they said they take out 30 minutes a day for lunch. I never take 30 minutes for lunch, the thieves. 

WTF!

I just applied online for the Metro Mobility position. I hate this job. 

11:00am:

I'm walking with my new metatarsal cushions and my feet just might possibly show some discernible amount of decreased pain. Thank God for small miracles.

1:00pm:
I came home for lunch. Other than the cost of gas to get home it's a free lunch, compliments of the food bank. As a base I have some free macaroni noodles, corn and peas in a lovely tomato sauce base, making well over two quarts. But it was not too tasty so I added some food bank beef stew and it's delectable! I'm serious, it's pretty good.

Once I got home I asked myself if I took my noon dose of pills. I have to do something about my now deteriorating memory. Stress is definitely a factor, and deciding to move on vs. staying in the car business is stressful beyond all I'd imagined. I had just begun to feel my memory dysfunction was turning around after making changes in my meds but one of the side effects of virtually all the meds I've ever taken includes memory issues.

It IS denial that found me in this position with a week to go in the month. I'm on probation at work and have now applied for one job? If my numbers aren't much higher than they are now they have reason to get rid of me. Nothing concrete has been said in that regard but that's only because the sales manager that will be relegated to that task avoids confrontation at all costs.

3:00 pm:
I had a customer coming in who I sent a mass email to earlier. I had three people tell me to just get him out the door. Jon A had been kicked out of the dealership by the owner, is the most arrogant person ever, blah, blah, blah. He had a mailing that showed his current payment and a new payment if $509 for a new car of equal value.

I sat and smiled and listened to Jon regurgitate his life story, from multiple degrees to the different woodwind instruments he'd played, purchases, and refurbished. Then we got down to business.

"What can I do for you today, Jon?" I asked. 

"I want a new car just like mine for this payment," he said, handing me the flyer.

"I don't know that we can do that for that price..." I started to say.

"Why not?" he said. "It says right here that you can." The temperature was rising.

"Let's see if we have what you want," I said, going online to check our inventory.

"I had everything in it," he said. We found the most expensive one online and I put that stock number in the system. The sales manager I was going to work this deal with was scared of Jon A, literally. And didn't want him in here a minute longer than necessary. Jon just sounded bipolar to me, so I was never even nervous.

I decided to blame the new system we were implementing when I didn't smoothly get to the point where I could do a vehicle locate of a red one with all the buzzers and bells. "Let me see what I can do for you, Jon," I said.

I went into the sales office and the sales manager started out by saying, "just tell him we're too far off on the numbers." Scared! 

"Is this his actual payment on the flyer computed for him and his payments?" I asked her. "He said we told him we can do it for this amount because it's here on the flyer." 

She grumbled and fumbled and tried to find a red one. "There are none of those red ones coming into the whole region through September," she said. I had found out previously that when he ordered the 2012 he was driving now, and saw that the interior had tan and black when I did arrive, not just tan as he had requested, but with black parts, he tried to cancel the order. She was trying to avoid that aggravation and I was just showing her that I can handle the problem children. I was enjoying myself. The key to rapport with Jon was to listen and listen and listen... How timely was than exercise?

"Tell him the numbers don't work out, and maybe it'll make more sense in the fall," she said more than once.

She never did give me the monthly payment of an actual deal. Instead, I went back and told him we would not have a car like his anywhere in the whole region through September and that the payment quoted was based on the VIN, which on Nissans does not break down to the accessories, and that was that.

He graciously thanked me and said if we did get a red one to give him a call.

The punchline. It's in two parts. 1) when I returned to the sales office the sales manager was nowhere to be found, she went into hiding. 2) the owner had a long conversation with me about how it was only the second time in his career he had lost his temper, so I reiterated that Jon was pleasant.

Takes one to know one? It is what it is. 

Almost no action taken thus far

5:30 am:
It's Wednesday morning and as of this writing I have taken no action to find a new job since hearing about it by text last Thursday while at the twins game.

My anxiety woke me up last night and it's gripping me now this morning to the point where my breathing isn't regular. Am I still deciding what I'm going to do, or putting off making that decision, or bracing myself for the limited choices I will have? Will I have the luxury of time to make a choice? Would my present employer actually let me go at the end of the month because my sales figures have sucked since they took away the ability to sell to people who walk in the door, (ups)?

I'm off from 6 pm tonight through Thursday, then back Friday morning 7 am. I sold a car yesterday and it grossed $325 but that is $8 short of covering my base unless I sell another one today. In other words, I get another week at $7.25/hour. 

2:30 pm:

If I do sell another car in the next 90 minutes, the hours over 40, (I'm scheduled for 46), that I worked last week mean nothing. This draw against commission sucks. Why do I do this to myself, i.e. take no action to better my situation? Am I not worthy? 

I came home last night and there was that moment after I had finished eating when I decided I was just going to veg out on the TV.  I was exhausted and my feet were killing me so I opted out of a bike ride. I have a debilitating foot condition that greatly limits what I can do for a living, i.e. not even as much walking as I'm doing now.

CLICK HERE for what's wrong with my feet.This condition, (metatarsalgia), came on strong after my attempt to work at Target as a seasonal Team Member. That lasted three days and found me interviewing for a sales position in the most cutthroat field there is. And for the record, sales is NOT what I want to do!

My night was finished. I became a couch potato. I guess I've grown and learned that when i make a conscious decision to take the night off i try not to second guess that decision.

On a positive note, I didn't take an extra Buspirone last night though I was tempted, so I just let myself feel like crap. That's good, right? (Not taking one is good, feeling like crap is never good). I don't need to get into a situation where I worry about getting hooked on a higher dose than prescribed or I'll have to confront that need when I can't get a refill sooner than thirty days. While I'm on a high note, I quit smoking after just a couple weeks so I don't have that $4/day habit. It's easy to quit, I do it all the time. I've also cut way back on caffeine now so that could be a factor in my blood pressure getting back to pre-hypertensive vs hypertensive levels. 

Back to the negative; I'm continuing to gain weight. Intermittent exercising increases the appetite even when I don't work out everyday. I'm up to 183 lbs now. Last summer I was too thin, weighing in at 165. Maybe the 5lbs of Easter candy was not a wise choice? It went right to my hips. In my defense, I got it for 75% off at Goodwill. And I'm proud to say I tossed a pound of the chocolate eggs in the trash but I pulled a half dozen of the delicious eggs back out of the garbage the next evening. Mmm...

I fell asleep early last night so I did get some good sleep before midnight. I heard somewhere that the pre-midnight sleep is good stuff. I did however find myself waking up several times during the night. I was tempted to take half of a Trazodone or even some Benadryl about 3:00, the third time I woke, to help get back to sleep but again, victory, I got back to sleep with nothing more than a podcast of "This American Life." I heard portions of three of those during the night.

I'm battling getting out of my head vs. not totally tuning out reality. I'm thinking I would like a job that involves driving, like a courtesy shuttle for an assisted living residence. 

Aim high, Stephen! 

I can live on $13/hour if I can find something else like a  children's book online to subsidize it. Dreaming is free.

I fought the urge to make my POF profile invisible until I finished buttoning my shirt this morning, another victory. Then I went stealth on POF, I do not need that drama, and the Ukrainian I met didn't respond back to me when I said I'd like to try oil painting. Maybe the quip about how I might be a naturally gifted impressionist, just hadn't had a chance, was a bit intense. No loose ends to tie up on POF so that was easy and my shirt was buttoned almost non-stop before shutting down POF. Sometimes I find myself putting on my shoes, turning on the TV, adding something to my to-do list, etc. before the shirt is buttoned. It wouldn't bother me if I didn't think it was a sign of stress and/or anxiety.  

Since I got up at 5:15 instead of waiting for the 5:30 alarm I tried to download the newest version of the operating system for the MacBook so I could get one of my short stories on iTunes. I couldn't figure it out but I took baby steps, I tried. I've been meaning to get that process of self-publication going for awhile. In my delusional dreams I hope to make a killing on some children's books and pay off the debts, buy a cabin up in the north woods, keep my basic apartment in town, find an outdoorsy woman who's my best friend and can keep up with me and my ruined feet, bad back, high blood pressure, and mental illness and I'll be living high off the hog. Baby steps...

On the way into work I couldn't remember if I took my morning dose of Depakote and Buspirone, which is the other end of the spectrum from Sunday when I just forgot to take it even though I have an alarm that goes off twice a day on my phone when the dose is due. So, I took a dose when I got into work. I'm now feeling relatively better but compared to what? Geez, did I double up on the dose? Is my inability to even keep up on my dosing another sign that my memory sucks? Actually that memory issue is a given, my memory sucks.

I emailed a copy of my latest resume to myself at work and am editing it. Baby steps. WooHoo!

I got a text from my daughter showing my granddaughter and her gnome, Grimble at his summer home. These mini-escapes are what I love most. Someday maybe I won't consider these precious moments "escapes," though I'm not sure what else they could be called; moments of joy? My happy place?

Sunday...

I moped about at work yesterday and watched to see if anybody expressed interest in meeting me on POF.com. I am not one to divulge personal information but this woman has me baffled. The curlers picture is her main photo and the one next to that, of the railroad crossing with no caption is also in there. Is she bipolar or what? She's hilarious! I hope that was her intention.

I had a meet-up with a woman on Thursday. My feet are ruined so walking around the mall was not comfortable for me, and I didn't get to look at her. When I asked if we could sit and talk she said she sits all day. Oops. She is an amazing woman; Ukrainian, programmer, artist, piano player, etc. and afterward she followed up with a note saying I was quite handsome. I guess I lost her at, "You have amazing eyes," when I responded back, she didn't reply. Moving on... Rejection on POF is no big deal, been there, done that, over and over.

But what now? I don't know if I'll be employed in a month, or three months, would I date me if I were a woman looking? And that's just the financial aspect, what about my mood disorder? Do I pull the plug on POF for now or start correspondence with people like RoseOfSpring? 

What to do, what to do?  I'm going to church, then a bike ride until noon, then to my eldest daughter's home for my other daughter's birthday party. 

"RoseOfSpring" you are hilarious. 

THE REST OF MY SUNDAY

We had a birthday brunch at Jessica's with the family and it was great. There is no discernible animosity between the mother of my children, (Diane) and me. 

I forgot to bring my noon dose of my meds, (not an uncommon occurence), and since I rode my bike over there I didn't have the emergency backup supply handy that I keep in my car. By 2:30 I was "owly," worrying about my money matters, so I left.

When I had my dose and convinced myself it hit and made me "normal," and the I'd had rest of my exercise behind me from riding back home, I went to Diane's to install the Apple TV gift we all pitched in to buy her for Mother's Day. We got along pretty well. 

Then I went home about 5:30, begged out on some TV, and got a good night's sleep.  

Clear out the past, Google-style

I thought I had better Google my name and see what comes up. Damned if it didn't implicate me and my condition. I sent a blog post to an artist whereby it started out saying, "I have suffered from Bipolar II Disorder..." It was on YouTube, so captured by Google, and my confession, which started out relatively secretly, was there for the world to see?

What more awaits me? I am now waking and starting to consciously look forward to my first morning dose. Should I take it now, or should I take it in an hour, thereby having it in my system for a 1 pm dose vs. a noon dose? And then there's the job hunt situation.

Stay tuned! The whole staff will be at work today, and the GM's job seems as volatile as anybody's.

I got a call from an ex-girlfriend and it woke me up last night. I was quick enough to say, "Hello?  Hello?" and she spoke but I pretended I didn't hear her and said, "Hello?" and hung up. She asked if I was home. Now what???

1pm SATURDAY

Halfway through the day and business is slow coming inn off the streets. Everybody is asking each other their options. In our weekly sales meeting we were told we could do one if three things:

1) Tell Feldmann to fuck off

2) Apply or a job at the Mercedes store

3) interview for position at he new location that is projected to open the end of July.

I have a fourth option. I'm kidding, I need a fourth option because option one implies we can afford to tell them to go fuck themselves. 

Dear Lord, make the decision an easy one.

While at the Twins game with my granddaughter and her aunt, my other daughter, I got this text from Michael.

"So cool news. Feldmann has sold Nissan franchise and store will move to Eden prairie. Closing 60 to 90 days out."

Needless to say, I'm concerned and my churning stomach is in direct correlation to that concern.

FIVE HOURS LATER:

All the talk is "so what are YOU going to do?" I think denial would be nothing less than massochistic at this point. That milfoil harvester is looking like a dream job. I am so tired of the stress.

There is nothing I want more right now than to escape this anxiety and be mindful during something healthy to keep from anticipating the near future. They will be interviewing us all in the next couple weeks so if they are asking for proof of production I'm toast, my sales tanked since moving me to service. He'll, I'm toast on so many levels anyway.  

What to do, what to do? I just took a full dose, (instead of half a tablet), of the Buspirone for starters. I get to make that decision myself, according to my shrink. And I was just starting to feel in balance I think. I feel in balance. Compared to what? So much for that perspective until the smoke clears again. Damn, I'm stressed out.

Here is my ongoing battle in real time, i.e.  when the anxiety increases in stressful times like this, isn't that normal? And if so, should I temper that natural level of anxiety by increasing my doses of Buspirone so I don't feel the increased anxiety? And to top this off, my therapist is moving on in a month so I won't have a sympathetic ear. I just heard that news yesterday.

One philosophy I was able to use to my self-destructive advantage in situations like this was to invoke the AA philosophy, "one day at a time." I'm not going to look for a job today, so I'll put that thought on the shelf, go home, hop on my bike, put on Pandora, look for a camera shot, and tune out as I get my much needed exercise as I drive the 17 miles around the lakes. Ahh... Denial, cleanse my soul at least today. I'll worry about tomorrow, tomorrow. One day at a time. 

Wait, what was the title of this post? Make the decision an easy one? It's pretty black and white, I'm hosed. I have to do something soon, but not now, not tonight, and not on Saturday and I might have a date on Sunday. 

Maybe I could postpone the personals for awhile? Hmmm...

In the other hand, if (not when? WTF?) I do delve back into the job market I could use a woman's company as a wonderful escape. No, I don't need the drama queen, been there, done that. Sex? That does keep me mindful. Obsession is a form of mindfulness, isn't it?

Is all this negativity bipolar related?

I haven't spoken to Michael today. He sent a text last night saying, "You don't love me anymore..." I didn't respond.

The nice weather is bringing more shoppers in off the street (ups) but I don't get any of those. I'm the official greeter in the service waiting area and not confident the service advisers like me bothering them with, "Did John Miller show up yet?" The owner of the dealership has said all service customers are to get a handshake and a smile but now I'm on my own with no support and feeling as though the walls are caving in on me, which is odd because I'm not claustrophobic.

On the other hand, this diatribe I'm writing now is being composed a few minutes after taking my mid-day dose of Buspirone and Delakote, which should kick in soon. But then what, will I still feel this anxiety? Isn't that a normal feeling in hell like this? 

Am I in complete denial that I will be let go at the end of the month? Why am I not frantically looking for another job? I was riding around Lake Calhoun recently and had a conscious thought, as delusional as it was, that I would love to be the guy who harvests milfoil. In the winter I could ride the Zamboni!

Should I talk with Michael about betraying our friendship? I over-rehearse those types of conversations, and the latest I've come up with is along the lines of, "Friends don't do what you did, Michael. I told you I have a hard time trusting people but now that issue is laid to rest between us. I don't trust you anymore."  The more caustic thing I could say is, "I was told by three different reps to watch my back regarding you. I thought I knew better. I sure know how to pick 'em. That's why I don't have a lot of friends."  At least this new relationship will mean I won't be fetching copies from the copy machine anymore. I was doing that as a friend.

I am off in three hours, then off all day tomorrow. I babysit my granddaughter from 10:00 so I won't be wrapped up in my own brain but again, shouldn't I be more self-aware that I'm in a volatile situation?

What to do, what to do? I have therapy in the morning. That will be interesting.  Then I have a coffee meet-up at 6:00. That should also be interesting.

Who needs enemies with friends like Michael?

I started a new job in car sales six months ago, right before one of the worst winters in Minnesota in many years, and perennially the slowest time of year. I didn't know what I was doing so Michael took me under his wing. I'm not here to say disparaging things about others, but now I remember why I don't have any friends. I sure know how to pick them.

I wanted to get out of sales but instead decided to hop back in the shark tank. There's those delusions of grandeur at work. "I can do any sort of sales, I'm a great salesman," I told myself.

I make $7.25/hour draw against commission, paid weekly. That's $365/week. In simple math, if I sell two cars in a given week I gross about $350 if it has any profit in the deal, and many new car sales don't. "Minis" (minimal pay per a new car deal), pay about $150. So, two car sales a week and I'm still making $7.25/hour for a 50 hour week. In this compensation program there is no overtime pay.

Last month I didn't make much more than minimum. The month before I couldn't even make rent. In the six months I've been there, with the original sales staff of eleven, we're down to nine salesmen and I've seen six salesmen get let go or quit. I'm fourth in seniority!

I was put on probation the last week of last month. I have two weeks to go to really put out some huge sales numbers or I could be out of another shitty job. During my last month there, barring some sort of a miracle, I'm now a glorified greeter in the service department. If the service customers have a car payment and can get into a new car without raising their payments much, I'm the one to get them from waiting for an oil change to driving out with a $25,000 car. Or, if they get an estimate for $6,000 of needed repairs and it has more than 140,000 miles, maybe it's time for a new one. I'm that guy.

I no longer get to greet any customers who walk right up, (called an "UP"), in the front door, that's for the others to get that low hanging fruit. Michael helped orchestrate my new job description and assigned himself my overseer/boss, with management's approval. I must confess I don't work well under close scrutiny, but who does?

Last night I spotted a young couple who worked with me a few months ago on the sales floor. I said hi, started rehashing what I recalled about the lost sales transaction, which didn't work in my favor, (they bought a Ford Fusion), etc. Michael came and stood next to me as I was talking to them. This wasn't an UP, this was a former customer, even though I didn't sell them anything.

Worried that the sales manager may take this deal away from me completely I graciously turned them over to Michael, telling him at least I'd get something out of it. This morning I asked Michael how it went down and asked if I was in on the deal. He was belligerent about it, wondering why I would wonder such a preposterous thing. I'm betting me made well over $500 on that deal alone.

• What to do, what to do? 
• Keep your enemies close and your friends closer. 
• Am I going to confront him? 
• Well, I'm not going to fetch his copies from the copy machine anymore. 
• Will I survive without his daunting, controlling, sarcastic support? 
• I think so, or it's self-fulfilling prophesy to think I won't, and idiot or sick or mentally ill to not prepare for the inevitable. 
• I do not have enough money to miss one single paycheck. 
• Hey, my delusions of grandeur will kick in, with denial right behind, and I'll be shocked if I get laid off after Memorial Day.

Welcome to my world. 

My first three unpublished books were part fiction. Why would I make this stuff up? The title of my second novel was T.B.T.B.F. (Too Bizarre to be Fiction) because my life is.

I can't button my shirt uninterrupted.

I discussed this with  my therapist more than a few, but less than several weeks ago. I get started on the first few buttons but 99 times out of 100 I do something else before I'm finished buttoning the whole shirt. Why? Let's analyze the hell out of it, shall we?

1. I don't need to see what I'm doing, so my eyes are free to roam.
2. By the time I'm getting dressed there are a finite number of minutes to finish this routine.
3. I'm not able to be mindful of the act I must perform?

What could cause this inability to button one's shirt every single day, day after day, everyday, ad nauseum?
ADHD? Read that link, it's too fun to miss.

How about another of the bipolar symptoms? EveryDayHealth does a nice job of writing a lot and saying a little.

And what about me? Uh oh, I don't concentrate? Moi? I  can't concentrate on negative things or that will mean self-fulfilling prophesy. If I'm depressed, I have to think about something other than buttoning my shirt because if I  think about buttoning my shirt that will mean 47% of the part of the brain I  use in order to think conscious, albeit negative thoughts, will not be busy and the  natural tendencies to think negative thoughts in the morning before my Buspirone kicks in can only be defeated invoking the philosophy I  grew up on.

"An idle mind is the devil's workshop." 

WTF? Where'd I hear that before?  I heard it a lot growing  up. It's misquoted from  "The Sermon on the Mount." Stay with me, it's a great punchline.
 

The Bible verse from Philippians 4:8 illustrates this further: ''Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable--if anything is excellent or praiseworthy--think about such things." If we don't keep our minds on pure thoughts, the Devil will come in and take over.

My dad summed it up more succinctly.

"If you're not busy, grab a broom."

I'm supposed to do that in sales? Come on Dad, I was a  pharmaceutical rep. Really? I drove 800 miles a week. Where's the broom? Oh, I know, I'll listen to self-help tapes and  get all these delusions of grandeur. Beats pushing a broom, which beats being idle. Hmm...

Sexuality? You mean to tell me that wasn't "normal" behavior either?

Let's let Healthline.com give the definitive on sexuality during manic phases:

Sexuality During Mania
Hyper-sexuality is an increased level of interest in sex or increased amount of sexual activity that can seem out of control. It is characterized by:

1. never feeling sexually satisfied despite engaging in a lot of sexual
2. activity
3. sex drive that seems out of control
4. not having sexual gratification
5. having sex with multiple sex partners, including strangers
6. excessive masturbation
7. having continuous affairs and putting relationships at risk
8. inappropriate and risky sexual behavior
9. sex is used as a “painkiller” to avoid intimacy and other aspects of human relations that are feared
10. not having emotional satisfaction from sex
11. poor sexual impulse control
12. preoccupation with sexual thoughts
13. possible increase in use of pornography

Okay, so I fit about 10 of these, give or take, depending on my mood, so what's that make me? I'm not a slut, and I never was promiscuous, other than online when the sex chat-lines came into vogue. Then, if I'm being honest here, and why not, I was a cyber slut.

How Great I Art? Or are these thoughts delusions of grandeur?

Sure, there's always some opinion out there that works against my inner psyche. Hell, I thought I was going to be great, I still do. I still think I’m special in my own way.

I have three books I wrote, but nobody has read them. I've written some illustrated children's poems lately. But what to do, what to do? How am I going to stop dreaming of great things to come, and why would I  do that anyway?

Here's what the Physician's Reference says on the subject:

Mania may also include . . . delusions of grandeur. Delusions associated with mania frequently center around an expansive sense of self that goes well beyond narcissism, eg, believing oneself to have special (eg, supernatural) powers or to be the chosen leader of the world or universe.

Accoding to the DSM-IV TR (the latest version) one of the symptoms of bipolar mania is:

Inflated self-esteem to levels of grandiosity

But what about all those self-help tapes; Tony Robbins, Denis Waitley, Earl Nightingale, Bob Mowad, Napoleon Hill, et. al.

Sales has been my career, not of choice, but that’s another story. It’s competitive and I was/am good at it. Okay, I was good at it. I never did like talking people into things they didn’t want to be talked into. I guess that means I didn't like sales, but I did the whole books on tape thing of the above genre for a few years and it did make a difference. I was an over-achiever.

Or was I just smart enough, and talented enough to let the bipolar delusions of grandeur build up my expectations and left me crashing down when I should have been reaping the fruits of my labors? I often felt it was self-fulfilling prophesy, setting myself up for the fall. Boy, I hate that term. Accuse a depressed person of realizing self-fulfilling prophesy and you'll get their head spinning. If I have negative thoughts, they'll happen? Mix that with the whole positive thoughts from the greats and I had two choices; be hypomanic in my approach to life, whereby good things would happen or be depressed and the world would cry with me. 

WTF?

How long have I had this gift?

At my birth my mother tells the story that the doctor pointed out an extra earlobe on me. As the legend continues to get a life of its own, he then tells her, "That usually means there's some other things wrong with him that are insidious."

So the story grew and the third ear lobe became a third ear. That wasn't good enough, thanks to "A Big Fat Greek Wedding." The legend grew and my removed appendage went from an earlobe to an ear. 

Aunt Voula: [to Ian's parents] Now, you are family. Okay. All my life, I had a lump at the back of my neck, right here. Always, a lump. Then I started menopause and the lump got bigger from the "hormonees." It started to grow. So I go to the doctor, and he did the bio... the b... the... the bios... the... b... the "bobopsy." Inside the lump he found teeth and a spinal cord. Yes. Inside the lump was my twin. 

My point? I have no idea how long I have had this bipolar disorder? When I let my defenses down, and wear the label of having a mental illness, I think I have had  I polar disorder for a very long time.

I'm going to share symptoms and then my experiences with those symptoms so that others who feel something in them is different will find out quicker than the average person with this illness find out. The average time is 13.5 years. http://www.theguardian.com/society/2012/jun/27/bipolar-disorder-diagnosis-survey and theatre is a lot of pain during those times, by the diagnosed and the collateral damage. 

I think too much? WTF?

Ever get this accusation leveled against you?

"You think too much?" 

What in the world does that mean? How much do more normal people think? How would I ever know how much they think and try to emulate that? How do they NOT think so much? Or is it that I think too much about the wrong things, i.e. me, or why I think too much?

In reality, I do think too much, except when I write. I write with little thought going into it at all. I call it ghostwriting, though that's not really what it is. (ghostwriting is crediting the writer's  work to another person). I write something from a form of a trance and then read it later and ask, "Who wrote that?" I'm not bragging, it's sometimes a bit disconcerting.

I've come to realize that the ghostwriter in me could be the most normal persona I have. I had some pen-pals for more than a decade and not once did they tell me I had a mental illness.

The other thing that makes my writing more "normal" is the ability to edit it, though I hate to edit my own work. But by doing so I learn something about myself more often than not.

I'm further defining certain terms that I need to bring into my daily life to grow, heal and maybe even thrive. I'm learning more about these terms in my weekly therapy sessions. One term is self-awareness. As profound as that is, I wasn't practicing it. A simplified definition is that self-awareness is conscious knowledge of one's own  feelings, desires and motives.

Instead of babbling I'm learning to take a breath, listen to myself, and then close my mouth. Does that sound easy? Well, if you consider the fact that I'm only saying about 20% of what I want to say, it's difficult to not just spew forth everything that my brain processes, plus not able to keep up with my thoughts, so the babbling turns to babbling incoherently. No biggie, nobody seems to listen, and if they do, they're too nice to say they can't follow me.

I'm becoming self-aware that nobody wants to hear about my life. I can't blame them, I'm not much interested in theirs either. I'm also becoming self-aware that I'm on a conquest inner thought quest for a smart-ass response, or a follow up question. I get frustrated when the talking keeps talking on and on and I don't get to input what I had to say three topics ago, the last time that  person took a breath.

The next term that will come along here in the blog often is "mindfulness."  I love this one most of all, and credit my self-awareness of my mindfulness to the woman I took  to my senior prom. I drilled this term down to focusing on the awareness of the present moment. But if I'm self-aware that I'm being mindful,  I'm not quite mindful.

Is there anything better than an invigorating bike ride around the city lakes in perfect weather, realizing that the playlist for Pandora was a good one? Only afterward I'd congratulated myself on spending most of the time seeking a great photo, my breathing, pulse, and watching people.

I had a pretty mindful ride yesterday. I  say that now, a day later, because I remember it as a great ride. But I also am not going to ignore the fact that the other reason it was a good ride was because I had just taken my Buspar (Buspirone HCL 15mg) and Depakote (Valproic Acid 250mg). Without that dosage, I can kiss any good mindfulness good-bye.

"Write About you. It is entertaining and funny sometimes."

Writing about myself is an interesting concept. I've written three books and they were all about me, me, me, with a fictional twist to keep the readers interested. I call that writing my fictional autobiography.


The first clue my writings all about me weren't being read, i.e. having an audience to read what I wrote, was when I was blogging/posting on MySpace.com. On one of the last posts I created presented an offer. "First one to tell me they read this gets $100 cash." I had no takers.

I did get a damning post from another MySpace user when I copied and pasted a portion of an email my son-in-law sent to my daughter telling her where he was going and when. She said I endangered our troops. Well, somebody read my blog?