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I hope he does start seeing ghosts like that movie (which I never saw). It'd be pretty damn cool. Unless they started acting all poltergeisty.

So what's going on? Doing well at my job. I've been taking payrolls and started entering employees for new clients and keying in balances. All very exciting stuff, to be sure. But the biggest boon is that I've been having a rush of ideas since I started working. Since I'm so mentally stimulated every day, I've actually been more creative. If I were on some sort of medication that would allow me to filter my thoughts better, I would probably be very prolific. Alas, I always seem to end up having 4 things going on in my head at once and find it very difficult to focus. As such, the fact that I've made some significant progress on Love Ridden is something to rejoice, at least for myself. I've got the central plot line worked out pretty well, now it's just a matter of figuring out the secondary storyline. (I've got the basic structure down, but figuring out what to do with the scenes to actually fill it out is what's stumping me for the moment.)

I had a welcome meeting last Thursday with my new case manager at the Phoenix equivalent of the psychiatric facility I was receiving treatment from in Tucson. Coincidentally or not, I've been on a roller coaster of emotions ever since. I keep getting told -- by Jennifer, my now-former psychologist, an online writing friend who's also nuts -- that I really ought to be on medication. My argument against it is that in the 3 years since I took myself off meds, I've made a movie, gotten into more relationships than I'd ever had previously, moved to a new city, and increased my hourly wage by 100%. My biggest worry about taking lithium or lexapro or what-have-you is that I'll completely lose all creativity, which is a legitimate concern at a time when I'm coming up with new titles and script ideas on at least a weekly basis. And I don't want it to be a crutch, like if I don't take a pill, the day's going to be unmanageable. The argument that keeps getting thrown back at me whenever I talk about meds being a crutch is what I like to term the "diabetes argument." Which goes, if you were diabetic, would it be a crutch to take medication to treat the disease? And of course it isn't. And let's face it, when you get diagnosed as being bipolar, even if you don't go on spending sprees and you've managed to keep yourself out of being committed to a mental hospital for about 5 years, you're still considered seriously mentally ill.
And while I don't talk about what a basket case I am anymore, especially since it went over like such gangbusters toward the end there (back in '04, I believe it was, when my mind was clearly unraveling and it was easier to presume that my cocaine use was the sole culprit (though that isn't to say it played no part)), I still manage to startle myself with the occasional viciousness of my thoughts. There are nights that I have trouble falling asleep because I see such horrific images in my head. And my thought process can swing so wildly from being happy with my relationship to feeling like my only escape is murder. If I were a lyricist, the following would make it into a song: "Emotions and loyalties turn on a dime." And I think that's the best summation of bipolar disorder I've got at the moment, 'cause what exists right now ain't guaranteed to exist 5 minutes from now. Which frustrates me greatly, and gives me a strong insight as to why I don't maintain my friendships for much more than a couple years, especially the really close ones. They burn so bright and go supernova so quickly, they can't persist at that intensity for long.
I get to see a psychiatrist in February. No sooner because my job has a strict policy against time off in December and January. I do have an appointment at the beginning of December, though, with a neurologist to ascertain what prompted me to pass out at Okkervil River. (I tried telling them that I just got overly excited at seeing the dreamy Will Sheff up close, but they insist I see a doctor.) I'm not the suicidal type much anymore (though I couldn't help but think of driving my car off the freeway on Monday and Tuesday mornings) but dying of an aneurysm would be a pretty damn nice way to go. Seriously, you feel a staggering pain for a split second, and don't be fooled, it hurts like a motherfucker, but nothing worse than a really bad bout of diarrhea. And then you're off in the universe, completely oblivious to the world going on around you. That is, that's what I presume an aneurysm is like if it's anything like what I've experienced during my two episodes of blacking out (one time with a seizure!). But I don't plan on dying any time soon. Have too much important shit to do. At least gotta make Love Ridden. Then we'll see where things go from there.