I feel somewhat better today, but not great.

I want to feel good again. I’d settle for good.

I feel distant from things. Unable to touch, or to be touched.

I, I, I. Bipolar is such a narcissistic condition.

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SPEAK on Wednesday was great. Our second anniversary. I turned the selection of themes over to the group, and there was great enthusiasm. Will post them later.

Also: we remain at twice a month, and we won’t be having features except on an occasional basis. (Like Rachel Kann on 9/22.)

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I still have nothing to say about the column.

The problem with treating writing as a spiritual practice is that when the spirit isn’t willing, the weak flesh feels justified in sitting it out.

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Thanks to javabill and thisrabbit for offering a sympathetic place to hang last night. If I hadn’t talked, I would have exploded.

As it is, I’m sadder but wiser now. Maybe wiser can lead to happier. That would be nice.

I’ve always been of the mindset that I had to figure everything out rationally when I had a problem — which may be why I do so poorly with irrational issues, twisted and complex emotions.

Maybe wiser can lead to happier. Maybe it can’t.

I’m willing to entertain that possibility.

I have nothing to say anymore about poetry.

I keep trying, but nothing comes out.

I know I have more to say, but somehow I’m more interested in writing poems than writing about poems.

I think I’m aiming toward ending my tenure as an essayist, soon…getting harder to come up with topics than don’t seem like a rehash of past ones.

I need some inspiration.

I need a drink, as well, but I’m not drinking these days — maybe there’s a connection.