Countdown

 Good morning, dear reader(s), long time no see. I’ve been off on a personal odyssey, caught up in writing “Morning Pages,” longhand in a spiral-bound notebook, as instructed in the book, “The Artist’s Way.” I’m not sure I will continue faithfully with this daily exercise, as it takes me away from here, and to date has been little more than me wallowing in self-pity and doubt in my abilities. The Inner Critic is having a field day, though maybe that is the reason for this project, and to vanquish this foe once and for all.

We are officially on a countdown for my art show on May 20. I’m getting extremely nervous, and rushing to complete “Genesis” in time. I guess all that’s left is to affix some found objects to the board—shouldn’t take long, but I want each piece infused with meaning, challenging the viewer to really think and to join me in my mind’s eye. The good thing is if no one wants to buy Genesis, I can continue to work on it, though something tells me it is (almost) complete.

I fear my artistic window may have nearly shut again. What with my work now from the Writer’s Circle, and the meds firmly anchoring me now in reality, I’m not so sure I can tap that state which propels the prolific artistic periods I enjoy. In a way, it feels almost safer when I am not doing art—I’m not out there on a limb, listening to blaring music, talking to myself, sometimes feeling as if people are reading my mind. I will miss the frenzy of activity, though I sincerely enjoy this slower pace now of doing weekly writing assignments for my group. Yes, I need to always be creating, this is true. Such is the fate of many individuals with bipolar disorder.

I see Dr. Levy next week and I’m definitely going to tell him there was a significant shift in my sense of reality ever since I got Covid last month. Suddenly I felt anchored, like the Risperdal was really taking hold, like this hyper-awareness to my environment really, really calmed down and I finally feel normal again. I’m not blaring the radio, I’m not talking out loud to myself in the car, I’ve stopped picking up trash. Was it simply a case of needing 6 months to come fully back to earth, or did Covid do some adjustments on me? Not sure.

I wonder if I might try driving the highway soon. I think I may be ready, but I’m going to take it slow. There are some real lunatics out there who need to be avoided. I’ve come to like driving the streets, lots to see along the road, so I’m hesitant to give that up. Oh, we shall see what happens. OK I’m off to strip the beds and launder bedsheets; have a lunch then we are going plant shopping. Strap yourselves in, bring on the art show. Here we go!