Wishful Drinking

I left work, or rather, escaped today before Dr. C. could catch me with another assignment. (Although he did then call me at home.) Honestly, his "ethic" - if that's what it is and not a neurosis - is astounding. The man never stops.

Anyway, it was dryer than usual, hotter than usual on my walk to the car inside the blast-wall-surrounded parking lot. I talked with Charlie on the phone finally after several mis-dials and broken connections. Sounded like she had a good day. I finally bought a ticket to London.

When I pulled in to park, A. caught me. It's theatre night for A. and W. and tonight they had tickets to Carrie Fischer's "Wishful Drinking." It was really "In the Kitchen with Carrie - A Conversation" more than an acted production. She told the very funny, ridiculous, and yet sympathetically pathetic story of celebrity in America.

And then she talked about her addictions, and finally about her manic-depression. She explained it well. Things happen externally, jobs go well, jobs go bad, loves go well, loves go bad, but a manic-depressive's emotions operate "like weather" independent of the events in their lives for the most part. Events can trigger explosions, but essentially the swings in mood are creatures of their own will. S. eventually understood that, but decided she couldn't take the inevitability of the cycling storms and ebullient dawns of living with a manic-depressive.

Charlie knows me differently. Knows the ropes of my illness intimately, and is much braver about it. She has her reasons for being so. I just hope I can honor her faith in me given that the symptoms of the disease are promiscuity, bad judgment (usually with money), and an addiction of some sort. She and I could do very well together, though. I think we see the others' cycle and try to dampen it if for no other reason than because we're afraid it will drag us down into its grip, too. Of course it's greatly different for me. I'm being effectively treated. She's given up, but is doing extraordinarily well despite the lack of treatment.

The brain that will not cease. That's the sum of it. Thoughts race, but organizing them is the hard part. People like us need anchors to moor to. I hope it can be each other. Here's to that wishful drink.