I’ll apologize in advance for the slight bit of emotional whiplash in this post. I don’t have bipolar, but it might feel a bit like it. As deep in the dark as I am, any little spark gives me a near hysterical moment of something like joy. I appreciate those sparks because they keep me going. So with that, I’ll let you read on.

You guys, as much as I’m usually stressing somewhat about my grad work (I don’t belong here, I’m procrastinating, why am I doing this, ad nauseum), I really love it. I mean I adore it – I loved my ed program as well, but this stuff really feeds my soul.

I love literary theory.

There, I said it. I love it, and it feels like coming home. I’m really looking forward to the rest of this program, and then to being in a space with other English nerds who also love literary theory and writing and stuff. My work in this class often brings a glimmer of awesomeness in days that sorely need that glimmer. The only other thing that comes close these days is student interaction.

I had my second appointment yesterday and successfully (yaaaay!) made an appointment with a doctor for October 2nd. This means I should have medication by October 3, which seems an awful long ways away, but is at least a beckoning light. During my appointment yesterday, Rosemary expressed very genuine concern over the results of the Beck Depression Inventory. I scored very well into the severe depression range. I’m not surprised by that. I know it’s never been as bad as it is right now.

I put one foot in front of the other, and then I do it again. I don’t mean that to be inspirational, not at all. I’m not on a journey, I’m on a forced march. I don’t look up and I don’t look to either side. It’s keeping me moving forward, as do the glimmers from work and school, but only barely. Still, I think I can keep moving until next week, so that’s good.

I’m most likely not going to make my grandmother’s funeral in SoCal. As with the whole event of her death, I have very mixed feelings about this. On one hand, I think it may the gods interceding to keep my sanity. On the other, I feel tremendous guilt for not going. In part that’s about other family members’ disappointment, and in part it’s just that I hadn’t seen her since my dad’s death and I wanted to say good-bye.