The Witch Queen of New Orleans
Me looking out the kitchen windows
Everybody is so loud all the time, and I'm only loud in the mornings. It puts me at odds with afternoon louds which I look at scornfully, and make my blood boil. I am bubbling and frothing, and stomp stomp stomp down the hall on the way home each night. Thank God, K. is quiet and doesn't insist on talking, or I seriously might kill myself. I can't stand all these sounds everyone has. Fucking yak yak yak and their heels click clacking and their jowls chewing their foods. I come so close to just putting my fingers in my ears and screaming. It's ugly that I think this way, but I really do. No one knows how to shut the fuck up anymore, and no one can take a damn hint when I am not interested in talking. I got home and ate mashed potatoes for the 7th night in a row, and I went with K. and Mearl on a walk. The sunshine helped. Mearl saw a Husky, and she couldn't be calmed she wanted a piece of it so bad. Mearl is like me, too. I birthed her. She senses my electrical buzzzzzz "just try me" currents, and she becomes an appendage of mine, perhaps: barking and straining ferociously. They say dogs sense things you know? I was researching to see if other Bipolar people experienced rage over noises like I do, and I found this interesting article that is so right on, it's creepy.
That's not pretty, and so I wrote the above yesterday. It's today now here. I lived through the night. Since then, it is sunny and perfect, and calm and comforting and helpful. This is rapid cycling Bipolar II. It can even happen within a span of hours sometimes, quick as a finger snap and I'll turn on heel, turn on you. When I was little I thought I was just high strung like a prized Thoroughbred or my Grandmother, or I thought maybe I had a churning, swirling rip current soul. Those are true, but when you talk to a psychiatrist they write in, "Bipolar II." I have been reckless my whole life, especially with drugs and alcohol, but sometimes relationships, too. It's all a part of it. I like to wreck it all. Somehow my mind and body desire to wreck it all. It's strange to think of the little bits and pieces of my brain, watching from a distance thinking, "This looks stable. Burn it the fuck down." One friend said once, when I was in college, that he thought I did things just to sabotage myself. Now, it seems he may have been right. Really, that's how I am deep inside, though. And then I go into a dark, sleepy lazy hole with one who hates herself and doesn't care if she has another day. It's like looking at the entirety of your life and personality with a map key. So many things make so much more sense now.
K. helped me tuck my rose bush back up into the tree so it's safe, and the branches aren't along the ground just waiting to be broken. It was hard work for me, but he is tall, and he just snapped those thorny stems back in place, easy as pie. I need to get some twine to tie some of them up a bit better, but for now, it'll do. K. likes my eyes better lined brown and brooding and all flickering changing colors, but I read somewhere that lining your eyes makes you look older or smaller or something so I hadn't been doing it. If my boy likes it, and I secretly like it because I feel like a powerful Egyptian, I'll line these eyes all of my days.
At some point, I became a ma'am, and I tried to war with it by drinking an entire bottle of wine every single night by myself for a few weeks. Don't fret, I've given that up. Plus, it gave me even more purple smudges under my eyes. There's nothing to be done. Most days I still feel young so there's that.
I have my first staff senate reception tomorrow. They're doing a welcoming committee for new senators. I'm forcing Kelly to coordinate like a power political couple. In my mind, we will run A-State, but really, I'm just pretending. I was already put on my first committee to write down some hard policies on how elections in the future will be conducted since I had so many issues with this one. I just think it's an easy fix if you put pen to paper and hash some rules out. Frankly, I can't believe there isn't one in place. There is like a three sentence guideline in their constitution, but it's so vague it leaves tons of room for errors, unfairness, etc. So there you have it. I'm going to eat cookies and drink punch and hob nob with the other senators and here what they thing and start working on things I'd like accomplished over time. The election commission was my first one, though. I'm so glad they President thought to reach out to me since I publicly voiced how bogus it was many times. I better find my name tag and lapel pin.
Today, I should've said, "No, this is not allowed," when they appeared in our building with a wriggly puppy, but I couldn't. Instead I held him, and he licked me with puppy breath and his name was "Major". He was a beagle, and he loved me but he mostly loved wriggling and trying to get down and run all over exploring.
More soon, sweets.
