Midnight Manic

What a strange day it has been. I should be rejoicing, my shit's on schedule and in a few days I head to my other home, where the weather is usually better than here this time of year.
And work has been good to me, my home just keeps getting bigger. I'm macking- as they used to say.
But nights like this; that crash--I think only drug addicts and gambling junkies can really understand a bipolar crash-- that crash is always in the back of my head. It keeps me in check.
The experts teach us to not focus on it, to not dwell on when the good fortune or happiness, or just plain lack of miserableness will end.
The advice is based on a lot of science, and I don't doubt it, just, well, it is difficult to execute.

And so my thoughts are a jumble and if my neighbors don't already hate me they must be considering it... who wants to listen to some crazy bitch growling all the time about everything?
So I guess it is a good thing I even have another crib. I can escape, get some work done in a different place, and give the poor battered souls around me a rest.
Perhaps some will say it is a bit much, but Steve Jobs deserves a Nobel Prize for the iPod. For the simple reason that persons living on the precipice can just plug in and zone out. I cannot even imagine how many assaults and homicides just haven't taken place because the more easily perturbed of the world have an easier way to fade the world out. It is a highly underrated skill and the iPod is the tool that makes it almost easy.

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