Today I am in Chicago on this, the last Friday of 2007. I flew home today from a week in DC (just ahead of most of the crappy weather we've had today). Kitties are asleep next to me on the couch (evidence above), and all is well.
I got a collection notice today for emergency medical services and ambulance transport for you-know-who when he was still living in Colorado. It was probably from the time that he was having delusions about snipers surrounding the house - I'm guessing that his roommate called 911 or something because he had really lost it. It makes me sad to think about how fucked up he really was back then, and also extremely glad that I wasn't around to witness it. I know now that he was (is?) bipolar. Back then his therapist told me that was his diagnosis, but I didn't believe it - to me, bipolar meant spending sprees and frenzied streaks of productivity punctuated by deep depression, and on TV it happened to people with massive capacities for creativity who didn't want medication to spoil their art. I didn't know that mania could also means delusions. In some way it makes me feel better now to know what it was, like there is some closure to it because it has a name. I haven't thought about these things in a long time and it doesn't really mean anything anymore, but seeing that reminder of how out of control he was made me a little sad. Oh, and now someone has to cough up $480.
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