work and play

I work today. In fact, I work all week. I'd rather be writing. Writing is work, of course, and it is sometimes grueling. But I'd much rather be doing that than sitting in the back room of a clothing store in the mall, in the cold, making phone calls to answering machines. The only redeeming feature is that the mall work results in a little money to offset my recent spending. I can't seem to stay within budget. I will probably have spent more on books about bipolar disorder and about writing than I will ever make on the sale of this book I'm writing.

Work is hard for me...even writing work. When I'm manic my thoughts run faster than I can capture them. I'm all over the place. I jump from subject to subject, project to project, subject to project, and back again...accomplishing a little on each as I pass by. Of course, some times the words flow brilliantly and easily and my work is done in little time. But that is rare.

Usually, and particularly when I am depressed, I slog. I drop things like thoughts, words, ideas. I lose them and scrabble to keep up. And I forget...forget what I was going to say, forget how to do things, forget...just forget.

Today, I'm a bit depressed. The work I have to do...making phone calls...suits me. The hard part will be trying to sound chipper on the phone. aarrghh. But at least I don't have to wear a suit, like I will on Thursday.