For some reason this reminds me of the DELICIOUS (cough cough) breakfast I was forced to have while camping this summer.  World, I proudly present: cold buckwheat porridge with melted meat jelly:

A bipolar friend going through a manic phase will:

Hurt you emotionally

Call you names

Hurt you physically

Steal

Cheat

Lie

Fly to the Moon while learning Chinese, giving a rock-concert and knitting a 239483km long scarf. Oh and starting 120383 new business ventures in different parts of the world.

Try to have sex with everything.

Try to save the world.

Call you 1983774 times a day.

Think of himself/herself as a new Messaiah.

Make you understand that it really is an illness and not a matter of will.

Make you learn to stand up  to yourself and draw boundaries.

Teach you to be more compassionate.

Teach you to never again form intimate relationships with bipolar persons.

Make you sound ugly.

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I`m harsh. But it`s a harsh disease. I can only imagine what it is like for those people… to ++++ your life, career and relationships, time after time. To have nonstop racing thoughts. To not sleep. To see and hear things that are not there. To feel uncontrollable anger, love, desire, obsessive thoughts, sadness…

I`m sorry. But I cannot and will not support you anymore. I am sorry that you have such a fate but I cannot do anything about it. I tried and failed. I have to take care of myself. I want you out of my life.  I want to move as far away from you as possible. Take care.

April 10:

April 11:

I`ve been chained to bed for four days now and it doesn`t seem to get better. Frustrating, Grrhhh. My room looks like it went through a massive Kleenex invasion. And people tell me that they don`t like touching me because I`m too HOT. Hmm.

I ran out of ideas how to waste time so I decided to post some pictures here. Of my fourth home. These are winter pictures, the horrible white stuff has mostly disappeared by now and things are looking much, much better. We already have Sun some days and birds and some people claim to have seen *drummroll* FLOWERS (well not quite flowers yet, just green stalks sticking out from the ground).

I`ll also share my lame-gender-stereotype-chauvinist comic that I made today (the white sausage is a girl and the black one a man; not based on race):

I`m doing a presentation on Wallace Thurman in the African-American Literature course.

I stumbled upon him quite accidentally … How can you stumble upon a person?

Wallace was a prominent writer and literary critic of the Harlem Renaissance (the so called Black Mecca). What distinguished him from many of  the other writers of the time was that he did not romanticize Harlem the way they did… and he did not use art for social/sociological purposes… he thought that art shouldn`t be exploited for self-promotion and propaganda. He blamed Harlem writers for creating medicore works of exotic images which attracted white critics and publishers.

He blamed them for romanticizing the black persona and thus diminishing their uniqueness and depth. Wallace envisioned an African American literary movement owing itself, not to the patronage of elitist black intellectuals and white philanthropists, but to the individual genius whose art reflected images of everyday life of Black America.

Wallace seems like an interesting person  – Langston Hughes has said that he read like crazy, that he could read elevn lines at a time. He was sick a lot as a child, suffering from heart attacks (I didn`t know kids could have those)…probably that`s when he started his reading marathons.

Wallace (for some reason I feel the need to call him by his first name) was an intense person. His life was sharp, short and fast. He worked hard and played even harder. He wrote his first novel at the age of 10. He died when he was 32. He was an alcoholic and suffered from depression.He was constantly in debt. He published magazines and wrote a play called “Harlem” that debuted on Boardway in 1929.

He was brilliant. He concluded that Harlem would be the springboard for wider, maybe even cross-national, social changes. He said that the black movement in Harlem would be the starting point of reorganizing personal identification. He was bisexual.