Last night in my dream people were dying again. My mom was being raped again.

#bipolardiaries

I'm starting to feel the repercussions of quitting my medication all of a sudden. I am having difficulty sleeping now, although my appetite is all okay. There's just so many things that I want to look up and can't help myself. Maybe I shouldn't have bought data so I'd be forced to sleep or continue reading 1984. Then I should get some sleep.

Well, weed is my friend here – and right now as I write this I enjoy the mellow high that makes me feel like, well, a baby in a crib.

So what have I done after coming home today? Am I wasting time or is this the beginning of a hypomanic episode?

  1. Take dirty clothes to laundry shop.
  2. Take a bunch of selfies and manipulate through Snow.
  3. Comfort a deeply heartbroken friend.
  4. Half-read an article.
  5. Make a dream catcher; pin existing dream catchers on the curtain.
  6. Check Tinder for a bit.
  7. Watch YouTube videos about dreadlocks.
  8. Find a YouTube video about Sugar daddies/babies.
  9. Watch porn.
  10. Lookup my ex's sister on Facebook.
  11. Chat up with Kevin.

Yeah, that's pretty much it. Then now I smoked – to induce sleep – and found myself writing this note.

I haven't produced any formal essay recently, though I've been wanting to write about my surfboard shaper and surfing need-to-knows. I think I was supposed to also review pop up techniques on YouTube.

It's raining outside now. I guess this is a perfect time to doze off. I can hear a plane passing by. A honk of a jeepney. I think about if I'll ever meet another version of J again.