I am Bri. I am a lunatic. I am a housewife. I ramble. By definition, anyone and all who reads my blogs or knows me personally, does not need this clarification. IF and WHEN I'm in one of these manic stages, as I am today, I've taken my Adderall to stay clear of my pillow if only to avoid the pathetic moaning of my imaginary life's woes. TODAY, my bipolar is on an upswing. My general doctor feels that I'm cycling dangerously too often so it's time to approach the topic once again with my non-caring, check accepting, asinine psychiatrist (if this doesn't bring me down, nothing else will!).
For those of you, my dear friends and blog readers, who are not familiar with bipolar, it's exhausting not only for myself but for those who love me. When I'm "up" like today, tomorrow, and hopefully and a few more days afterwards - life is amazing! There's so much to do!! Now, this could be a very good thing or in cases like this morning...it can be awful. Let me explain.
When I'm manic, I can't do a load of laundry and sit back and watch the Price is Right game show on TV. What?! There's too much to do. The dogs need to be combed, I have to prep for dinner tonight, clean the shutters and all of this while talking with my mother about Aunt Sheila/Shelly's latest antics. (Damn, is that a cob web in my light?! That's next, write it down, Breezy!)
My mind is a whirlwind of activity. I'm more than a multi-tasker, I am "Breezy the Conqueror". By the time Eric walks through the door, the house is spectacularly clean, dinner is waiting on the table, and his blood pressure is up knowing that I plan on wearing my itty, bitty nurse's outfit before bedtime.
So now I'll explain today. 9:30am. I've just finished two bowls of candy bar in a cup (Breezy's term for coffee), taken my Adderall, drank my protein shake for breakfast, consumed the remainder of my double-chocolate birthday cake from dinner last night, opened a Pepsi (please make note my dear family that my cursing began when I noticed you left me only ONE can of soda which I personally restocked two days ago), and now I'm so hyped I don't know whether to feed the dogs or dance to Macy Grey on the stereo.
At this time, I will also give you a brief description of my appearance (warning: swallow any food and beverages before you continue). I am a large breasted vooman who believes that once she is free of her teenage, mutant, ninja zitzillas; she is free to roam the house bra-less in her PJ's. This is not an attractive sight because as of yesterday, I am now in my late 40s (no explanation is further necessary). Believe what you may; however, I consider myself intelligent though not always "wise". The pajamas I'm wearing this morning were purchased on an overnight trip without any thought as to what the term "Duck Dynasty" meant. All I knew at the time was they looked warm and that they were flannel. I certainly wish they weren't pink and plaid as I thoroughly despise both. So here we have it; liberal, anti-gun, pro-gay, pacifist Bri owns a pair of pink, plaid, flannel "Duck Dynasty" pajamas. The irony! Oh - and while I'm writing this paragraph..flannel is not fire retardant.
Here I go:
Prepping tonight's dinner: Baked Ravioli and Garlic Bread
Folding the table cloths in the dryer
Yelling at Tank stop begging to go outside for the tenth time in five minutes
Pushing the sofa seat cushions in because my boys' butts never seem to push them back in on their own
Answering a call from a Spa company (*snort* "seriously?")
Immediately answer another automated call telling me my prescriptions are ready which I picked up yesterday
The water starts boiling for the pasta. Uh oh, my bowls of java and protein drink immediately "affect" me at precisely the same moment. That's okay. I've always been a power pooper - in other words; I usually have complete control. "Usually" is the catch word here. I set the timer and head towards the bathroom.
WHAT?! Suddenly, I realized - NOT spaghetti! Ravioli! SHITE! OMG! I start pulling the spaghetti out, noodles flying everywhere, the dogs are diving for scalding pasta which at the same time are catching on fire - did I mention I was wearing pink flannels? Did I have the common sense to turn off the gas burner?! Of course not because the one thing on this lunatic's mind was that in less than five seconds, I was going to have a second disgusting mess to clean up if I didn't catch my house on fire first.
Well, the house didn't go up in flames and as far as the PJ's, it's safe to confirm I never liked them anyway. Now it's time to take a shower and try to restore what the house smelled like before I was a power pooper; sadly another ability lost once I turned 49.