To my Bipolar Bear,

the best writers have said very
little
and the worst,
far too much.

When i work out which one i am, I'll stop writing.

i wore colour today.
it wasn't that bad.

i feel like an agoraphobiac bragging about making it to the mailbox.

the homeless manic depressive tunnel dweller whistled at me today. I've walked past him almost every day for a year and a half and he chooses today to whistle. not sure how to take that.

Frank says:
Welll, It's Not Me Dear. I have become a Mature Man, One of Reason And of Science

One of these days i'll write something coherent.