I just planned out the next six years of my life.  I am getting married in 25 days, if you didn’t know, dear readers.  So, my manic brain just said, you must do everything now.  And so I listened to the voice in my head – getting well, finances, child, finishing the book I am writing, getting a job, moving to another city, and then back again, getting another job after two years at home with the baby.  Some of this stuff I can’t even predict, but oh, how I have tried.  I wrote It all down as my fiancé slept.  We hadn’t had sex in a week-the longest we have ever gone-and tonight the primal sex sent me spinning.  The dog even thinks I am crazy. I have been whirling through another 1,000 words of writing my book.  My memoir.  I started it Friday – 6 days ago.  Which, in my state of chaos and self-delusion, I think I can finish in 6 months.  I do have 3,176 words in a matter of four sittings.  I twirl my engagement ring on my finger and write and write while thoughts fly.  I am hyper-aware of everything and super zoned in on myself at the same time.  I chain-vape and it feels like I am getting somewhere, even though nothing is actually happening yet because it is just 4am on a Wednesday morning but I think I can take over the world (although this time, maybe I will try it clothed.  See post: “Never throw your cell at a cop and other fun learning experiences”).  I simultaneously can’t collect thoughts and also have an abundance of them.  No, I am not on drugs.  I am on the residuals of sex and mania, mixed together like some forbidden cocktail.  And I have drunk the cocktail as fast as possible, at hyper-speed, actually.  It hits me like a line of cocaine.  My fingers don’t keep up with my mind as I write this.  I am on Hi-fi speed like a scratchy record playing the same part of the song over and over again.  Skip. Skip. Skip.  I jump with a jolt at any idea, and they all sound grand.  Except the financial one, which makes me irritable. Next thing I know, I am raging at Facebook and Trump (like the former matters).  However, on Facebook, I see shiny, bright people with lives that feel so elusive to me.  What is it even like to feel normal? Did I ever even know?  I have enough insight to know I don’t know.  I plan how my memoir is going to win awards, and I will be signing books for those people on FB that I am “friends” with that I don’t even like.  I am amazing.  I feel amazing.  I sometimes question am I happy, or just manic; right now I know the answer, but I don’t care, I just keep going.  My Fiancé comes downstairs and I say “I hope I didn’t keep you up with all my manic energy?”  “No,” he replies,  “I took a melatonin to sleep, so I just came to check on you.”  He probably woke up because of a trippy melatonin – induced dream, I think, and continue on, telling him I have planned out our lives until the year 2023.  He knows I am manic, and so he says sleepily, “That is good.  We will have a good life.”  I laugh and smile, and continue on – why sleep now? It is 5am and so I make coffee because I think that’s what I need, even though I know it isn’t.   It is 5am and I am as electrified as I was yesterday morning, waking up to a nightmare, except in a good way I think.  I listen STILL to the SAME album I have heard 500 times in the last week, except I skip all the slow songs.  That will slow me down, and I can’t stop now.  I can’t I can’t I can’t.  I keep myself “up with all my manic energy.”