We were in the break room. They were on break, I was already done with mine, but I was in an insubordinate mood.
Her brother offered me some Jolly Ranchers.
We were discussing the merits of various flavors when he said, “You can give it back if you don’t like it, you won’t hurt my feelings.”
I spontaneously and nonchalantly replied, “I’m not worried about your feelings.” Then I smiled and we all laughed.
“Oh myyyy,” his sister said. I’ve always thought that was a cute saying when a cute girl says it. “That was good.”
“I’m a little more feisty without my glasses on,” I said. I’d just finished rounding up some carts from the lot (I work at Walmart) and due to the Holy-Shit-We’re-All-Gonna-Die subzero temperatures, I had to remove my glasses and don a paper-thin, cotton, head condom.
“Maybe it’s because you can’t see people’s reactions, so it’s like farting in an elevator.”
A few minutes later, I had the privilege of witnessing a rare event. I have Bipolar III, a.k.a. cyclothymia. I’ve been in a more or less depressed state for the past month or so. After that convo, I started thinking about all of the various contradictions that make John, well, John.
Then I saw, with clarity, that that’s alright. It’s OK to be a paradox. In fact, maybe I’m just “meant” to be a living lesson on duality/non-duality. Then, the shift happened. All of a sudden my brain released some much needed endorphins and serotonin and I was once again in the sweet, sweet land of hypomania.
I feel good, and slight aroused. Unfortunately, I’ll have to trade this rare panacea for some sleep: work waits for me tonight.
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