I have now officially lost my mind.

I’m not sure of the exact moment when I became clinically psychotic, but I think it’s been rather recently.

I stayed up all night last night rearranging my furniture, objects d’art, paintings, toys, rugs — everything in the house.

Worse, I often moved a piece of furniture or a rug (requiring the move of much furniture) and then moved it back where it was. 

After I’ve been such a very good boy for so very long, I’m sure that when I lost my mind was sometime before I went to Best Buy and bought a shelf stereo system and a new alarm clock.  I haven’t put $200 on a credit card since mid summer.  What was I thinking?

Well, one thing I was thinking was that the old stereo and alarm clock were broken and no longer working and needed replacement, but I was waiting patiently until the money came in before buying that stuff.  Until I didn’t wait any more.  Got any idea what it’s like to be snowed in with no music?

Well, I could play music through this laptop, but it just wasn’t the same.

I’m smoking again.

More evidence of a completely unsound mind.

Now, I just have to start over.

Shit.

I have a lifesized standup cutout photo of George W. Bush in my living room, which I think is hilarious, but it’s also pathological.

I’ve dragged out all my old childhood toys, Erector set, electric Lionel train, and arranged them in my bedroom.  Since no women are coming into my bedroom these days, what the hell?  At least no one will be frightened by my fraternity pledge paddle and BB pistol.

Psychotic regression into childhood.

The house still isn’t put back together and, in fact, some parts of it are torn all to shit, but as I lose this manic phase and slide down into exhaustion and confusion, I don’t care.

Can we say “bipolar” boys and girls?  Sure we can.  “Bye-pole-are”.  See, that was easy.

That was a lot of crap to go through just to avoid working on my taxes, don’t you think?

Well, it’s been nice talking to you, but I have things to do.  Which walls will I smear with my own feces?  Can you overdose on Crestor, a cholesterol medicine?  Is Sinatra really talking to me and telling me to kill the dogs next door?  If I remain naked in one room, filling milk bottles with urine, will Katherine Hepburn come help me? You know, the usual stuff that everyone considers in the middle of a Friday afternoon.