I’m prone to mood swings. I have a number of strategies to keep things under control, but you never know. When the high comes I have several options
- Ride that fucker to the stars (create and fuel the burn until LOS – loss of signal)
- Take evasive action (drugs, walks in nature, physical exercise)
- Wave hello to the burning desire inside (thank god I’m manic again) and mitigate the rise so the trajectory remains within tolerances.
It’s been a while since I sought the surface of the sun for warmth and inspiration. I’ve been training my mind, my own L3M. I used to chart my days and weeks and months on a scale.
0 = dead >
1 = hospitalization >
2 = flat, sad, funtional >
3 = good but bored >
4-5-6-7 = the sweet spot >
8 = check your velocity >
9 = intervention required >
10 = dead.
I don’t use the scale much anymore. There’s not really anyone left to tell. I’ve outlived both my kids and the love of my life. Now, it seems my songs and poems are more spiritual than sexual. There are grandkids somewhere, but they are busy with kids of their own.
*image dall-e prompt: “a night sky with a tiny campfire below primarily a black background with pointillistic stars in yellow abstract smudged blurry oil pastel add a young man holding his head in despair with wild white gray hair”
