an Essay evening.

my left arm still aches just a little bit from the bloodwork I had done today. It's kind of cool looking at the little needle hole in the crook of my elbow. Today has been fast, and slow, and everywhere at once. I wrote a paper for a class. It's mostly done, but I've been feeling so uncreative lately, and I don't think this essay is one of my better ones. I don't know how to make it better though. That's always hard for me, finding that my writing isn't where I want it to be. How hard some things come is worse just because of how easy writing comes normally.

I start taking new beds today. It'll be my first time taking meds for bipolar disorder. I'm looking forward to certain things not happening. No more crushing depressions, no more of the aftermath from wild manias. Of course I'm afraid that some of my creativity will be extinguished, but I don't really believe that it'll be a problem. I just have to learn how to live on a normal even mood. I've never really done routine, or when I've tried it's been completely subverted. That's something new, learning to live on an even level. I look forward to knowing how everyone manages.

I don't look forward to not drinking. I won't miss marijuana, the social bits perhaps, but the rest not so much. But alcohol I love. I love being sane more, so I'll be fine, but I find it ironic that I'm going to stop my serious drinking before I turn twenty one. A good whiskey or a good beer is incomparable. That's not to say I don't try. Of course I can still have a little from time to time, but the separation from the ability to get drunk is pretty marked.

Even with normal moods I'm going to be different. That's something that takes some getting used to. A little bit of medicine doesn't make me normal, it just makes me a bit better. I'm not saying that I'd like to be normal, but I would like to know what it's like. As of now I have no reference point.

This whole thing comes easily. This post has been easy to write, easy to sit down to. When I try to write these graded and marked things the words don't come out as well. It's because I have to constrain my thoughts to some single topic. I can write on some topic, but I can't remove the subjectivity and passion from it. A research paper is fine, because I have all these facts to fall back on, and it's just a thought process. I can also write blog posts and essays and stories filled with whatever it is that defines my papers. There's something I can put into it, but when I have to write some paper making a subjective analysis I just can't do it. I can't pretend to be objective about something so subjective. That's where the problem lies.