February 3, 2013
Conversations with myself at hypomanic times often go something like this.
Me: Stop playing piano and go get your work done.
Other me: I am really on a roll. I've got to keep playing. And I need to play it perfectly. I can't stop now.
Me: You need to go make dinner, pay the bills, be a grown up. Stop playing.
Other me: Shut up.
Me: Fine. Whatever.
You see, I can't stop playing the piano when I'm creating a new song. If I could, I would sit there and play the same new song without stopping all day long. But I can't do that. I have to force myself to stop. I know I have a job, I have household responsibilities, and of course, I have a son to care for and spend time with. But there is this magnetic force always drawing me back to the keys. Calling me. The blossoming melody singing inside my head. I ignore it as much as I can. But it nags at me. I feel like if I don't finish a new song, I can't concentrate on anything else.
Other Me: End this blog post and go play the piano.
Me: This blog post isn't finished yet. Proofread, revise, perfect it.
Other me: Stop being such a grown up. It's piano time.
Me: Fine. Whatever.
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