Friday, July 24, 2009

Christine: “What were you doing last night?”

Me: “Cleaning the kitchen,”

Christine: “It was three in the morning and you cleaned the kitchen on Monday.”

Me, sheeplishly: “I know.”

Living alone the occasional spikes in my mood are hidden. Nobody hears me up at night cleaning; at most I’m an email, IM, and telephone pest that can be ignored. Compared to my lows, which are predictable, evolving over weeks, the peaks are infrequent and sharp carrying on for a few days and then I return to “normal”

Me: “Which is worse, living with me when I’m depressed or when I’m active?”

Christine: “It’s quieter when your depressed, but its painful to know how you’re suffering and I worry about you all the time. But it’s hard to sleep when you’re like this.”

Me: “The sex was good?”

Christine smiling: “ Yes, making love was wonderful.”



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