  Marathon of sleep putting me down from a nap at 3pm yesterday after the gym until this morning at 8:30. Wowee, that’s a long one. Perhaps I needed it after an hour and a half at the gym. I plan another mission to regain my fitness this morning as soon as the gym opens at 10am.
Another 30 on the bike, and maybe I’ll bump it up to 45 on the elliptical if I’m feeling saucy. Happy days, you guys. Meds are working. No want for escapism. No desire to be irrationally motivated by impulse. I’m getting things done, but I do them without the short breathing of a manic attack. Like, I take breaks in between detailing the car and rearranging the bricks in the backyard. Only booze can slow me down when I slip into that mode, and drinking is the last thing on my mind. I have one more paper to write. For Martha… a paper that has no real meaning to it, comparing the relationships of the characters in Joyce’s The Dead and Woolf’s The Legacy. But to do it at all, I need to actually read the Joyce story, not just skim it for content. I’ll bring it to the gym with me.
Speaking of the gym, I need a new mix CD for the trip (since I lost my mp3 player). Black Eyed Peas or something. So sad that the harddrive crash took with it all 4,000 songs I’d accumulated over the years. I had so much shit. So many esoteric bits of bands that I’ll never even remember the names to, let alone go out and buy their albums. 
