Last week when this whole drama at the clinic was unfolding I was chanting to myself “not-now-not-now-not-now” because I was fucking BUSY and I had a race to run and I REALLY did not have time to fall into a hole and I KNEW that’s where it was all headed.

Yesterday my first FB status read “why can’t I just leave” because all I’ve done for several days with the exception of race day is sit around and cry and stare at the computer screen wishing I could focus on anything long enough to work or bathe. I can always tell when I’m going downhill when I start to just wish people would stop asking me for things. Like juice, or to answer their phone calls.

And then Jack threw up all over me,  answering the question quite eloquently while simultaneously yanking me out of the hole I’d been in for almost a week. Since I thrive on crises and problem solving, this was an excellent detractor from my own thing. (what’s it like for bipolar people without something to pull them out of the muck?)

Jack’s illness and my being the only person, literally, who can care for him means that there is no possible way that I can continue to remain in my depressive state.  The Graham-brain takes over and I strip the bed and do the laundry and take care of my kid and with that comes a few minutes of work here and there and all the sudden a phone message returned and then I pick up the phone when it rings and then the shower walls see me for the first time in a few days and boom just like that I’m going for a run.

Maybe the run is pretty ambitious. It’s cold and rainy as hell out there.