Toast to Good Friends

Bipolar sleep is a funny sleep. Not happy funny, twisted funny. I have finally smoked enough that by the end of this night I am comfortable enough to be real on this website. I'll go into the smoking another time. So I am close to sleep and that feeling of being plunged into the ocean, swirling around in the dark, seeing random snapshots and not knowing which way is up. There is always a situation that is somehow my fault, involving family. I've done something wrong. What a simple little message. Not that I believe that, or maybe I think most people do. How much do we feel that we have failed our families? How many times of day do we wish we could have done something better to make it right and make it all work out? I think a million times what I or he or she or we could have done together to fight for our solidarity. And so now, with no sense about what solidarity and loyalty means, I wander about with distrust and suspicion. I'm sure it comes across, I know it does. I can't imagine having this mental illness and not having a tough skin when it comes to letting people in. But I'm trying, and finding some people really are miserable to be around and you can't trust them. But then there are gems, rare and precious just like that, who don't come around often but stay when they do. So let's think about the one or two people in our lives or maybe more if we're lucky that will run this long haul with us. Think about them as you are falling asleep, be in a safe lovely place with them. Have your favorite dog there, for he is surely one of them. We'll toast to them, we love them.