Mondays are harder than most every other working day. It’s that first punch in that solidifies just how far there is to go yet until you can breathe. But I don’t dread what I do, so it’s not that bad.
This weekend Amanda and I decided that I was going to move in with her at the end of next month. I will be consolidating most of my stuff into a storage unit and taking a few things over there. I will be saving roughly $400 a month once I start living there, and I will have to commute far less than before. We plan to live there and sign a new lease for maybe a year, until we save up enough money to get a house somewhere in the east county. Plans.
Truly, I spend every weeknight there and I am getting frustrated having to leave at 7 so I can drive home safely. I just wish I could get into my jams and relax when I get off work. Smoke a bowl, put on my stretchy shorts, boom. But it is now certain to happen. In a month or so, I will be living there. And I will be integrated into a new pattern of existence. This life I have chosen makes me very happy, and is fulfilling.
Days go by, and things change. My life is in flux, and generally I find myself in an improving circumstance. It’s all I could hope for. Bipolar is hard because everything is kept in a precarious balance that is oft upset. Sometimes even something as innocuous as a dream can set in motion a neurochemical imbalance. To have a stable life, the love of a forgiving woman, and a family, is really quite remarkable. Considering how low I’ve been; how reduced to ruin. I’ve come a very long way.