Yeah, you knew I’d start joining some stuff again, right? I posted up here, not two minutes ago. Check it out, if the feeling hits ya in that special place.

It’s funny, remember me talking about my body being in tune with my mind - not vice versa? Well, on Sunday, a kick ass chick came downtown to hang with our little family. And we talked about quite a few things after I shooed JDawg off to get my daughter covered in sand. (So sand-infested, the amount of sand in her vagina would have made an entire Southpark episode funny.) One of the things I blathered about was that I was tired of the depressive phase of my moods - something I’ve had going on for about five months now.

I’m used to three to four months in the winter/spring, and they kinda kill me, but I always know that mania is right around the corner, so it seems a little like a silver lining, if you can get my drift. Cuz me? I. Love. Mania.

I get so much shit done. I think I can do anything. I walk around with rainbows flying out of my ass and plans to become an astronaut via home correspondence. Mania is very good to me. Except the couple of times it hasn’t been, but anyways.

Even since having Isobel around, I’ve found ways to indulge it, without it negatively affecting her. I don’t sleep as much, sometimes only a couple of hours a night, sometimes not at all, but I’m not tired, so I’m not cranky with her. I will super duper power clean - while she’s otherwise occupied or sleeping. I don’t eat much - so I guess that’s a negative thing, something I feel guilty about when I pause to think about it - but that doesn’t stop me from cooking and baking and slicing and dicing with the intent of her tummy being happy.

Mania is a wonderful thing for me - the exact opposite of January to May and October to December. It is up there with cocaine - one of the top five things I’ve loved in life.

So it’s funny that I said that I couldn’t wait for mania to kick in soon to Huckdoll on Sunday and then woke up on Tuesday with a mission.

A mission that seems not impossible. My apartment?

Oh! It’s going to effing gleam.