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.
I think it's wonderful that you've finished. It must feel amazing and free...does it not?
Posted by: Heather | 07 únor 2005 at 03:12 dop.
Oh, I'm delighted by that. It really rankled, because it felt like I finished AGES ago, but not really. More importantly, though, it had to be done by June, or I was going to be facing some visa challenges once I got to Prague. That diploma makes a big difference.
Posted by: Jane | 07 únor 2005 at 04:48 dop.
Glad you finally posted, bitch. As one currently experiencing "the panic, the vomit" right now, I feel you. Of course, Wodehouse said "the artistic temperament" is pure bosh - an excuse for not getting to work. Maybe he wasn't an artist.
Glad to hear you managed to pry your diploma from USC's cold, cruel fingers.
Oh, and on a suggestion from you from many years ago, I'm reading The Myth of Sisyphus. Brilliant! Camus is a professional dreamboat, right?
Posted by: Matt Ambrose | 07 únor 2005 at 03:19 odp.
The Myth of Sisyphus is sheer pleasure. I almost feel like lighting a cigarette when I've finished it. If Albert Camus were alive today, I would STALK HIM. Have you read his Notebooks? That book of Lyrical and Critical Essays? Seriously, I am in love... but you know what? I've never really loved his novels. If you ask me, fiction was not his bag.
Posted by: Jane | 07 únor 2005 at 03:27 odp.
Why did you not mention any relationship between Kafka and the experience of mental turbulence in your post?
How do funky mood swings feed into Kafka's world view of existential angst?
Posted by: Nick C. | 07 únor 2005 at 06:42 odp.
I didn't mention it because I have no thoughts on that topic currently. Sorry to disappoint. Also, I am reading a fictional NOVEL by Kafka, not a biography. Also, I have no idea about how anything feeds into in Kafka's worldview of existential angst, or anything else, since I'm not Franz Kafka.
Posted by: Jane | 07 únor 2005 at 08:03 odp.
Jane,
It doesn't hurt to learn you are 'SC. I still dig you, girl! ;)
Your offspring looks dapper in thespian rags. Way to suck it up Monkey Man-to-be!!
Its good to hear from you, Jane. Lame? Never.
Posted by: Martha | 07 únor 2005 at 09:34 odp.
I think your next big project should be "stop thinking of myself as lame". It's harder than it sounds ;) Congrats on finishing.
Posted by: Alda | 08 únor 2005 at 10:31 odp.
I'm with Alda -- autodelamification is definitely called for. Congratulations on the persuasive rhetoric that resulted in the B.A.
I forged a college transcript to get my visa for Japan; it's dead easy. Of course, I spoiled the effect by getting the real thing later, but that fraudulent transcript worked for me for years.
Oh yeah: Kafka's letters to Marina Whatserbuckets -- c'est vyborny! However you spell "vyborny."
Posted by: meg | 08 únor 2005 at 11:16 odp.