My body's weak
I'm on the run
No time to speak
I've gotta ride
Ride like the wind
To be free again
Now I'm not sure those are the right lyrics to the eighties hit "ride like the wind" or whatever. But I'm pretty sure about "it is the night" and I like that bit.
It's ten to three and I feel like I'm bursting with creativity and longing and energy. If I was a manic depressive I would be manic, but I'm just a boring old depressed person who feels like a million bucks for a little while but can't really keep that feeling or turn it into action.
If I was manic I would have cut my hair short and started writing two new books. I would sketch a lot of different sketches for different paintings and started a couple of them. I would cut up a lot of fabric for clothes I wanted to make. And then fall asleep. And then never finish any of those things.
Now I'm not manic. So I'm lying in bed (wait, is that the right spelling? I'm not telling lies, I'm lieing? No. Lie down? Not standing, not sitting. You get it. Whatever.) trying to muster up the energy to take my meds before I fall asleep. With a small storm inside me.
If I was manic I would have started fixing up my cv. Maybe even sent it to someone. I would have eaten something. I would have been awake until even later than this unholy hour.
I should sleep. Or take my meds and sleep. And stay off pinterest at night.