So, lately, I've been reading this very interesting book, Touched With Fire, about the apparently ample shared ground between Manic-Depressive illness, and the artistic temperament. It contains a long and riveting chapter detailing the vagaries of being George Gordon, Lord Byron, the Romantic poet, and officially, the first person ever to be called "mad, bad, and dangerous to know." It's also chock loaded with details about what is lost to a person in depression, and what is gained and lost in mania, from the standpoint of actual mental function, and at the risk of putting myself in far too illustrious company, I am FLOORED by how much of myself I recognize in her descriptions of those states of mind.
Of course I don't compare myself with Lord Byron, I'm obviously not such an extreme case of anything (though I've often longed for a greater appetite for destruction, I've never really had the stomach for that kind of unseemly behavior); but in terms of seeing in myself a sort of cycle of down and up times accompanied by a loss and gain in fluidity of thought, generalized taste for engagement and productivity, it's fairly revelatory. Now, having said that, I do think it's a big mistake to pathologize oneself unnecessarily. The interesting thing about extreme cases is the way they can shed a little light on more balanced temperaments that nevertheless LEAN a certain direction, and I do have to admit that I've never been the world's most sanguine citizen. I do experience deep, dark funks, as well as periods of revved-up activity and inspiration. Lately, it's been a long funk, and despite the fact that I do have so many totally excellent adventures, I feel a little bit like the murk lurks, and my time in the sun is borrowed. Grim, I know. Still, it's a comforting book. It gives me hope that at some time my productivity may return. Ok, now go ahead and make fun of me, Rian.
In tangentally related news, I do have something bitchin' to report. Although I finished attending college 10 years ago,complications arose having to do with my being a transfer student, and as it turned out, I ended my college career 4 elective credits short of actually earning my degree. Nice work, me! In order to actually have my diploma sent to me in the mail, I was required to take 4 credits of frickin' anything, for instance: BASKETWEAVING, but until then, I would remain a person who had failed to complete her actual degree. Life has been busy since then, and I've never really SEEN TO IT, but last week, I convinced the powers that be at my University to accept my CELTA course as the four final credits in my degree. Once they process all that through their byzantine beaurocracy, I will have officially graduated from college, with honors from my department, and Magna Cum Laude from the University.
Now, that's awesome, because, for all these years, the fact that I couldn't even finish my degree, for which I was in debt for thousands of big dollars, was the NUMBER ONE item on my extensive list of reasons why I am so lame, and can't manage to finish anything. I guess now I'll have to actually get to work on one of my many unfinished art projects... you know, if I can manage.
People, aren't you glad I finally posted something? Geezus.