The love of mania

I’m not actually manic: I’m hypomanic. I’ve never been this way with out suicidal urges or para-suicidal thoughts. It’s kinda fun. Hell on your relationships, but still fun.

I’ve found a lot of paper, paper is my current situation. I found it at various craft and convenience stores, the internet, and I am dying to get Oriental Trading Company’s scrapbook edition. They are always so cheap when it comes to toys, favors, etc, I am hoping to find a bargain.

But back to the manic. Before all of this bipolar diagnosis stuff I had a fabulous memory. The more I was diagnosed, the worse it got. The great thing about it for me is that I honestly don’t remember stuff. I had a furious husband yesterday who found out that I bought something (fairy wings and a wand: $1) because he thought I lied about not going to the store and then not about buying anything. It wasn’t the $1, it was the principle.

He was wrong. I just plain forgot. It’s like my brain is just surfing all of these waves of emotion, logic, joy. I don’t pick up on a whole lot but my brain’s experience of desire. I focus on what I want. I am not able to lose this all consuming desire.

I went to Joanne’s fabrics a couple of days ago and found some gorgeous paper, on sale. I went back today to find it gone. I told myself I had learned my lesson: If something is on sale, buy it without reservations. Now I’m going to be hauling myself around the greater XXXXX area searching for more beautiful paper at affordable prices.

I’ll talk more about the selfishness stuff later. (Maybe tomorrow?) Sorry I don’t have anything uplifting to add, but maybe I will tomorrow.

P.S. Have to add that a furious husband of mine means that he makes a very mad face and wants to be alone to watch t.v. We’re not dealing with yelling or other abuse issues.

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