Left of center

There really isn't anything all that alarming going on with me. In fact, its all quite hum drum. Yes, there is sadness and times is hard and all that, but the actual situation I live with lacks the drama of even a Hallmark mid-week movie.
Some days are better than others. The best medicine I have discovered yet is to take a long walk in the cold air. The first 20 minutes are pure torture (not because I'm out of shape, thankyouverymuch), but because when my feet hit the open road, my mind takes advantage of the quiet and starts kicking it crazy style. I run through scenario after scenario...one more desperate than the next... in an attempt to offload the day's emotional detritus. My brain likes to throw out the baby with the bathwater. In order to process stress of any intensity, it has to work through all sorts of imaginary shit in addition to the real shit which is currently up in my face. After the first 20 minutes of mental bulimia, there is a sort of a calm. And by calm, I mean a less frightening internal dialogue that eventually spins itself out into dust and fumes. Keep walking.
I'm not worried(except when I am worried).
That's the nice thing about only being somewhat mentally ill. Perspective. I'm starting to own this as my challenge (oh dear, I'm becoming empowered) and I do think that there is a way to live through this without it running over me.
The dancer, the joker, the leader, the lover, the mother, the manager, the counselor, the freak. All the things that I am are touched by the fact that my brainworks are just to the left of normal.
I'm ok here on the westside. When it gets really dark, just remind me about that time I made you say "dzam...."