Lots of dreams in the night but nothing I can remember. Woke up at 6, reluctant to get out of the warm bed, and I thought for a while. My mother; is it today? I tried not to imagine too much. My book. Shall I make Jen's story a "coming of age" story? If so, how? This caused a major episode of Self Doubt in the Extreme so I tried to stop that line of thinking as well.
Then the thoughts of coffee. Mmm, delicious coffee. How I love coffee. It's so bitter, yet delicious. I take mine with milk. Coffee is the reward for a night's sleep.
I thought about the train and whether I could take it up to pdoc's office this morning. Easy? Hard? I think I'll attempt it even though I can't figure out whether the train I want is actually an express train or not. Burlingham is a milk-train stop, so I need to avoid expresses.
See, this is the kind of entry I have been culling from the bipolar diary. However, reading back through the bipolar entries I'm keeping, I find that I miss the mundane, as well. It's all INTENSE and FREAKING OUT since I only kept those entries. But if I put in the more mundane it would be about 800 pages by now. Seriously. It would. So what to do!
I always run into some kind of insurmountable problem. How I hate it! I suppose it's why not everyone writes books. I need to learn how to publish books. And don't tell me to publish myself. I'm not willing to do the initial marketing. Nyah. That saying should be "Do what you love and send it out, and the money will follow."
Come to think of it, having a hurt knee means that I shouldn't walk the mile between the train station and pdoc's office. Sigh.
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