One Of The Advantages Of

Moods Are Such An Essential Part Of The Substance Of Life, Of One's Notion Of Oneself, That Even Psychotic Extremes In Mood And Behavior Somehow Can Be Seen As Temporary, Even Understandable, Reactions To What Life Has Dealt.

One Is What One Is, And The Dishonesty Of Hiding Behind A Degree, Or A Title, Or Any Manner And Collection Of Words, Is Still Exactly That: Dishonest.

The Ancient Dialogue Between Reason And The Senses Is Almost Always More Interestingly And Passionately Resolved In Favor Of The Senses.

If I Can't Feel, If I Can't Move, If I Can't Think, And I Can't Care, Then What Conceivable Point Is There In Living?

I Compare Myself With My Former Self, Not With Others. Not Only That, I Tend To Compare My Current Self With The Best I Have Been, Which Is When I Have Been Midly Manic. When I Am My Present "normal" Self, I Am Far Removed From When I Have Been My Liveliest, Most Productive, Most Intense, Most Outgoing And Effervescent. In Sort, For Myself, I Am A Hard Act To Follow.