No more words

It may not exactly be a bad thing, considering a few days ago they wouldn’t shut the bleep up, and I was composing more posts than I could keep up with, composing posts while going about my day, composing posts while trying to parent my child, composing posts in the middle of praying — begging — for a moment of silence from the neverending cascade of words… but now, having been granted that which I wished for, I can’t help also mourning their loss. As my friends who have also been through this hell-ride of a roller coaster known as bipolar disorder say, they’ll be back, and at a saner pace — eventually. This is just the inevitable lull after the (shit)storm of the hypomania. (Hey, at least I’m a rapid cycler — sure, the productive hypomania doesn’t last long, but neither does the can’t-catch-my-breath unproductive hypomania, and maybe this fuck-I-can’t-string-two-words-together lull won’t either. …Right?)

Anyway. There’s that, and, y’know, I’m trying to actually sleep, which leaves me little time for writing. Well, and when I tried earlier, when I had some time during daylight hours, I couldn’t get my brain to track a thought, much less form a cohesive sentence. It’s not that I don’t have ideas (I do, oh how I do: I think I’ve doubled my drafts queue in the past week), it’s just that the actual execution of said ideas is a little… lacking.

In other words (heh), I have no idea what my posting is going to be like for the next little while, except I wouldn’t expect daily updates if I were my readership. But such is life when your Blogging Hostess (Beloved Bloggess? Chief Chick Raiser? the Chick Raiser Chick?) has a mood disorder that likes to rear its attractive, treacherous head just when I think I have this parenting-blogging-stability-life gig figured out.

In the meantime, two requests: first, go read Fugivitus. She pretty well rocks. Especially fabulous, if triggery (self-injury references), is this recent post. I’ve feeling very much there myself right now: I have to do this whole fucking getting-well thing over again, and it blows ugly half-chewed throat-burning acidic chunks — but I’ve done it before, and that gives me strength to know I can do it again.

Second request: I’ve figured out this isn’t nearly as effective as going to individuals to ask, but since I’m not up to that right now, I’m putting out another general call for submissions to the Womanist/Feminist Parenting Primer. Also, how do you feel about it? Is it working for you? Expanding your horizons at all? Answering any questions? Are you enjoying the guest posts? Do you wish I would scrap the project altogether? And if not — will you submit something? I promise I won’t bite.

Even if I were ever so inclined — and I can’t say as I would be, unless I really like you — I just don’t have the energy right now.