12:57 p.m. Clever & Witty!

I have called the 1-800-THERAPIST line for the local mental health association in hopes of finding a therapist who'll work on a sliding scale. The therapist I am seeing now, or was seeing (we broke up, or well, it's unofficial, but I left her), would make me wait 20-30m for my appointments, then sit me down for 15m, let me barely talk to her, then tell me, "Take everything one step at a time," "Do something for yourself: walk for 10m a day."

Unsurprisingly, I did not find this helpful.

When I am like this, I need someone to talk to. I need to talk about things. This is how I gather them in, get a grip on them. I have only one friend who somewhat understands my frame of mind, and so sporadically, I typetypetypetypetype to him, like I do this blog, but it's not quite the same, and a little like drunk IM'ing in that you come down from the hypomania wishing you hadn't said everything you said, or shown that particular chink in your underbelly's armor.

It's the English major and writer in me. I understand things best through words, through definitions, even if that definition is defined by what the definition is not. There is a word for that, I know. Still, I understand these things, as well as ... dammit! And here, the brain dies on me, and I am stupid again. All I have is "discourse communities" and "social epistemics," neither of which is what I want to say. But I remember them because they're the punchline to a great joke I used to tell about my first day of graduate school.

Disjunctions! I meant disjunctions!

Perhaps I'm a little hypomanic right now.