This morning I woke up with a chorus in my head, but each singer was singing a different song. One was literally a song, an instrumental rock piece that’s a little down and depressing. Another voice castigated me for not writing better, another told me there was no way I was going to write well this morning because I was too tired. Others had something to say about my day job and an email I got from an old friend describing how good his life is right now. This all turned on within seconds of regaining consciousness this morning. Pop. Like that it began, and didn’t let up until I got to the office and had my busy work to occupy me.

I sometimes wonder how other people wake up — do they immediately latch onto the most negative thoughts? Are their minds blissfully empty for a few seconds, attending only to themselves surfacing into wakefulness? Do some people wake without thoughts at all? Wouldn’t that be a gift, to wake up thinking only, “I’m lying in bed and now I’m starting to wake up?”

Or am I committing the sin of thinking other people have it easier than I do. Does everyone wake with concerns and fears haunting them, and am I simply unable to handle them? There’s no yardstick for this kind of emotion, and no discussion — who talks about what they’re thinking just when they wake? I want to know, what do people think?

The shiny new gadgets — they’re always referred to as shiny — seduce in times of boredom. Not to say that all who love gadgetry are bored or boring people, but, like sports, electronics fill in life’s smaller gaps. Shopping for them as entertainment. I go to the tech section of the newspaper first, after the front page, because its news is so neutral. I always want something, a newer version of what I already have that works just fine. The blogs don’t help matters, and I say “help” because it’s an addiction like any other, concerning myself with tech well out of my needs. A harmless addiction, except when I’m hypomanic, as I’m trending now, and I spend hours on the internet, shopping for gadgets, reading reviews. They’re so full of promises of a more productive, smoother life. They promise an end to boredom, and boredom is the first sign that I’m getting hypomanic. That, and writing too much in my journal. Is 1200 words per day too much? I think so. So I look at the new Mac mouse, and buy it in my imagination over and over again. Juicy rationalizations bounce around my head like electrons circling the nucleus of my rational brain, clouding it, fuzzying the picture of reality. I want, I need.

I’ve not been one to divulge much about my identity on this blog, fearful that people who know me and may employ me might find it. But this time I’ll give a little hint about what I’ve been going through. I used to live in Los Angeles, unmedicated and untreated. It got into my head, after taking a couple of writing classes at UCLA, that I should be able to make it into Columbia’s MFA program. I applied and got in. I left behind a burgeoning career. I was really on track to make great strides early in life — I was something of a prodigy in a field I don’t feel comfortable divulging right now. Suffice it to say, I was doing well.

But I didn’t see any of that. All I saw was the escape toward a writing life. I didn’t listen to others’ advice, their knitted brows when I described what I was about to do. I didn’t think about the insanity of throwing away my young career for writing school. In fact, it seemed kind of cool — there I was, succeeding, and I wanted more for myself in some other area so there I went, off into the wild blue with nary a plan or an idea of what was going to happen to me. This, to me, is hypomania in its purest form. I simply would not listen to the practical voices in my own head. I took a major chance.

I haven’t found any work writing — haven’t looked for any, in fact. So I’m back to doing what I used to as prodigy at in LA, several years later and several rungs lower on the ladder. I’m no longer that young, and the stuff I’m working on, in a word, sucks. This leaves me little time to write, so it’s the worst of both worlds. Throw in student loans and you’ve got world-class stress building up. Sometimes I wonder whether my diagnosis of Bipolar II has more to do with my situation and less to do with biology. My doctors have always scoffed at the idea that there’s a difference — they’re there to treat both, and consider both reasonable causes for the disorder. Stress-induced madness, I guess you could call it.

Daily, I try to get back into that headspace I had before I left Los Angeles: heady, self-confident beyond all belief, willing to throw caution to the winds. I could use some of that right now. Music and light drug use are the best I seem to be able to do. Oh yeah — and the milligrams.

Someone with some great graphical and coding skills needs to come up with a good mood chart program. I haven’t come across a good computer application for the Mac where I can track my moods, medications, sleep times, etc., all in one place over a long period. I’ve checked this one out, but it doesn’t seem to have entry places for medications. I’d pay upwards of $100 for a good service. Anyone know of something that might fit the bill?

When someone gets up and leaves the room, are they thinking about you? Looking forward to talking about you behind your back? When you say something to someone who’s checking their email and they don’t respond right away, does that mean they can’t tolerate your presence? Do you know that a door is closed to keep you out? Are you sure they’re not thinking about firing you? Or is it a case of they can’t find anyone else just yet, so you’re allowed to stay on for just a little while longer? When they ask how you’re doing, is it genuine? When they don’t ask, is that bad news? Is there a way around this kind of thinking?