It Can Happen

 Greetings all, another early to bed early to rise (this morning around 3:30), and I find myself just tickled pink that something quite wonderful, almost inexplicable is happening: my artistic “eye” is now fully open (along with my brain) and at long last I am back to making art again! I have long known that many, many bipolars are blessed with creativity—for those needing a primer, see Kay Redfield Jamison’s “Touched By Fire.” Yesterday was a toe-dipping exercise of creating a piece of macaroni art for husband Michael (at his request); quite simple really, just some Barilla elbows, newspaper clippings, Elmer’s school glue, glitter, and some glass shards collected by Michael that had been left in the alley, remnants of the Rumpke recycling truck.

But it was this morning, December 13, that a real breakthrough happened—and upfront I give quite a lot of credit equally to Google and my Basset Hound Miss Lily. A strange marriage of the two happened, and I won’t, rather, can’t (at this juncture) explain how this happened. Suffice to say a blessed Union occurred and it was captured on my trusty (smallish) red Apple iPhone which I’ve decided to never part with. At this point, you, faithful reader, may be wondering if I’ve tripped the light fantastic again, but as someone who is intimately familiar with bipolar manic psychosis, I can assure you I have never felt more sane in my life. So there.

But who am I, just a broke, unemployable weirdo, so I guess what I’m going to do is ride this artistic wave and see where it takes me. Back to this morning’s breakthrough, I am going to begin work pronto on a new piece that is loosely titled, “It Can Happen” (hat tip to the awesome band Yes), though I’m also toying with another title, “The Puppet Master.” The latter refers to a moniker that often came to me in past psychotic “delusions” where I would have a strong sense that someone/something was manipulating me. But at the time, it didn’t bother me in the least; actually I felt quite exhilarated that someone, anyone saw some worth in what I was seeing. I have a piece of art I did during true psychosis where I tried to marry a quilt with a collage, and there is a big black eye along with black figures around the edges. Perhaps some of the themes I was trying to capture in “Manic Quilt” will find their way into “It Can Happen” (winkedy, wink).

Speaking of strange bedfellows, did I tell you about the time—I believe I was a junior in High School at the illustrious Columbus School For Girls (harumph)—-that I married an American Eagle quilt pattern to a Wang computer? And Dr. Wong still had the nerve to give me a B- (or was it a C?) in Algebra. Just another brick in the wall of my rejection to Dartmouth College, though I harbor no resentment towards them. The sweatshirt Dad bought me from Hanover when we visited in ‘83 still fits, so I’ll wear out maybe the next time I’m at Burger King.

Perhaps though I should examine what I’ve been feeling a slight touch of lately: resentment. I know Webster’s has a concise definition of the word, but I’m looking for an emotional answer to it. Sure, we can all rush to Google and look up the word, but what does resentment mean to you? I think to date the best answers I have heard come (again) from A.A. meetings I have attended. Unfortunately, I cannot relay what I’ve heard as such meetings are intended for anonymity. But here, I can say that my resentment leads only to bitterness; bitterness leads only to a hardening of the soul; this hardening leads to despair; despair leads to the drink (or the pills or the weed or whatever you choose to escape your demons).

So when I start to feel resentment, which admittedly I have a few times over the past few days, I try to immediately switch gears and look squarely at what makes me peaceful. This morning, that is my two Basset Hounds, Miss Lily and Sir Little Legs, sleeping soundly on their respective “beds” (Lily’s a black, furry dog bed from Amazon) and Legs, a weirdly-shaped blue couch from the old Lazarus Department Store downtown. And of course, I know Michael is having bizarre dreams in the dented, cheap $450 full mattress from that furniture shop on E. Main Street in Whitehall.

The other thing that helps me through resentments is laughter. I’m immediately taken back to the movie “Animal House” (yes, based on Dartmouth) and Faber College’s quote, “Knowledge Is Good.” I’ll leave you with that to ponder today. Me, I have to figure out a way to get to the East side AGAIN without Michael getting suspicious….to be continued.