Falling off the manic wagon

It was fun. For about two weeks I was wildly manic. Mania is never a bad thing, at least for me. In fact, I spend my down time waiting for the next manic wave. And drat, one just ended.

You know what's weird? I often fail to notice that I've gone manic. It takes days before it dawns on me. You'd think it would be easy to spot mania. I mean, you're suddenly interested in everything and multi-tasking your way through the day -- and you feel grand. But the strange thing is that it isn't obvious at all. I need clues to tip me off.

The first clue is that I order things online (stuff I don't need, usually). A steady stream of UPS packages always tips my sister off (and me, too). She'll say, "He's flying again." And she's right. The last manic wave caused me to buy a bunch of hats. PS: I don't wear hats. Doesn't matter. I bought about seven of them. Weird hats, too. I got a derby, a top hat and a faaaabulous fedora, among other things. Mania makes me buy things.

But I noticed another clue during this episode. When I played my usual computer word games, I got all-time high scores -- again and again. This joins the pantheon of clues, alongside random purchases. (My vision gets better, too, but that's hard to notice.)

And now it's over. I've fallen off the manic wagon and I'm exhausted. Mania uses up a ton of energy. I hardly eat, hardly sleep and I'm always busy. It's just like being on speed. And I crash at the end, just like speed freaks do. So when I say I'm beat, I mean it.

If and when the next wave arrives, I'll try to produce a few entertaining posts. For now, nada. Can't wait till the hats arrive!

The end of the run

My latest manic episode lasted eight days. And let me tell you, they were fine days. I swear, mania is exactly like speed. (Trust me on this; I know.)

The world sparkles when I'm manic. No matter where I focus my attention, I'm fascinated by what I see. And all the while, my head is filled with ideas, splendid ideas. It's all I can do to write them down before I forget them, or before another thought takes their place.

When I'm manic I don't want to eat, I don't want to sleep. It's exactly like speed. The only difference between being manic and being a speed freak is that you don't know when the high is coming.

Unfortunately, the crash is also similar. At the end of a manic toot, I feel like I'm carrying a truck on my shoulders -- like right now. And though sparks of ideas are still flying through my mind, I don't have the energy to write them down -- or even revel in them. I'm exhausted.

It's odd that they call this syndrome manic-depressive I don't get depressed afterward; I'm just too tired to act. Or is that what depression is? I have no idea, or rather I'm too tired to think about it.

All I can do is stand here in the surf of lost ideas, waiting for the next wave. Mania, come back!