Sometimes it's the little things. Unfortunately I don't have a two week Caribbean cruise to look forward to at the end of the month. (I am a liability around water especially with a glass of anything in my hand) but I do have Homelands to look forward to on the box every Sunday night. I'm usually the one that misses out on what everyone's watching, I missed a whole series of Downtown Abbey which meant I couldn't join in a conversation in an office or pub for eight weeks and Footballers Wives I was discovered so late I had to cram in five series' into a long weekend, by the end of it I found myself wandering round Lidl in my funeral/pulling dress, six inch heels and cramp.
So, Homelands, I'm in the loop. US drama about terrorism, yes it's miles apart from my usual Confessions Of A Pet Hoarder or Embarrassing Bodies but now I'm socially accepted. The main character is also called Carrie, and like myself suffers from Bipolar, and is also on lithium. She plays the part well. This IS going somewhere.
In the meantime, a friend of mine comes over on a Monday morning to help me plan my week. She's not my PA, or CPN (community practice nurse) but somewhere in between, and she has dull taste in biscuits so she's cost effective.
She helps me fill my diary otherwise I'm stuck with things like Wednesday, re-write the bible as a musical, Wednesday PM cure hepatitis. It's the change of season and I've noticed some of my bipolar colleagues have been getting manic, myself included, and left unsupervised my diary starts to look like listed coding.
I taped Sundays' Homelands so my diary friend and I could watch it together on Monday over tea and crap biscuits. As we watch it, my poor friend not only has me, receptively asking her questions (I didn't see the first series) but on the screen another Carrie with bipolar is receptively asking questions (she works for the CIA).
From stuff I've read by other bipolar bears, Carrie Fisher included (another Carrie), we do tend to ask a lot of questions, often at inappropriate times. I once woke a boyfriend up at 4am to ask if he liked ghost trains. Another time at 5.30am with brushes and paint because I wanted to learn to paint NOW. A dear friend of mine's husband left her and my sympathy was much needed but all I was coming out with was the need to know the dimensions of the place he had moved into and the distance to and from his job.
Excitement, rush, impulse, anxiety, mania, inquisitive, instability... no idea why we do it. We just do.
I'm starting to think it would be easier for everyone else if I just booked that bloody Caribbean cruise after all...