It's never, ever good news when your psychiatrist calls YOU.

Today he said: Hi, Jean, this is Dr. R. Get off your medication. I just talked to your therapist about some hypomania you've been experiencing. Get off it right now, don't take either of those medications anymore. Call my nurse tomorrow.

I've dealt with a lot of doctors, and that's never happened before. I secretly think it's kind of awesome. But the down and dirty of it is that I'm on some anxiety meds, and they have shot me full force into some hard core hypomania. I had a therapy appointment today, and I talked for 45 minutes straight about how pissed I am at some people in my department, about how I secretly think about reforming the entire education system because it "fucking sucks" (I was dropping f bombs left and right with the therapist--not a good sign), and about every good thing with every student that has happened with me today. And then--and then I think without breathing--I literally spewed on and on about my entire teaching philisophy with my therapist. I told her everything I'm shooting for, and everything I want to become, and how I just get mad at bad teachers, but I'm a horrible person because it's not my place to judge them, and on and on and on. I don't even remember her talking. I just went on and on. And then, I just happened to mention, happened to throw out there that oh yeah, by the way, I think I'm having some problems with my mood. First of fucking all, I can't feel my nose. [punches self in nose]. I mean, I didn't even feel that. It's so annoying and so unconfortable, but I cannot feel my own nose on my face. My whole face feels numb. Second of all, I'm fucking jacked up. On Monday, I went to bed at 6:30--6:30 in the afternoon! and then I woke up at 11:20 and drank some orange juice, and then I went back to bed.

And last weekend, and the weekend before--I got so excited about it being Friday, or being on my way to the cities, that I was sweating and anxious, and my heart was beating, and I couldn't stop it. I mean, I was literally saying out loud: I'm so happy right now! God, I'm so happy! I was so high, and I thought I was so beautiful, and I just thought that everything I had and everything I did was so awesome. And today. I just have a headache. I feel like my head has been rushing and rushing and this headache has come because my brain is just thinking too much. I can feel it up there in my frontol lobe. And today--well, today after I was all anxious about those meetings, I just got to the classroom, and I was just on today. It was like one of those movies where something good happens to the characters and they walk around the hall acknowledging everybody like--eh! heh! eh!--and do the finger gun thing at them. And, I mean, I'm normally all excited about students and giving them stickers and telling them they're awesome and shit--but today it was so much more. I hunted down this kid and gave him a sucker, and I was all energetic with every kid I saw. And I felt like the best teacher in the world with the activity that I'd planned--and I felt that way yesterday, too, when I went off about how we absolutely need to fucking teach literary criticism in high school, and how the accidental-almost WWIII in 1995 is just like what happened in Romeo and Juliet when Balthasar didn't get Romeo the message. I mean, I just felt like I'm the best teacher in the world today. I felt like I was super teacher and I was flying around with a goddamned cape on my back.

Imagine me saying all of this in about 40 seconds flat. My therapist blinked back at me a lot. She had listened to my whole teaching philosophy and goal with my career for crying out loud. What else was she supposed to do. Then she said: you need to get in to see the doctor next week.

And I said I didn't have an appointment for a month. And she said: we'll find one for you.

And after I talked and talked and talked and talked (I just love buying new clothes, you know? It's like I'm wearing a costume. I love wearing a costume. I think I went almost all of last year without repeating the same outfit twice. I just love clothes. And fake moustaches. I have all of these fake moustaches, and I made my students wear them once, and they were like "why are you making Romeo and Tybalt have moutstaches," and I was just like: because moustaches are awesome, and that's all that matters") we went out to make an appointment and I couldn't get in. So she said: you have to call his nurse tomorrow, and I was like no problem. And then I met Tessa for beer and mashed potatoes at Grizzlebees, and when I got home, there was a message from Dr. R on my phone about how I need to stop my medication. It's scary, because this is the medication I stopped cold turkey last time that gave me vertigo and made me cry and when Phil was all whoa, go home last year.

Anyway, this is what mania feels like. I can't feel my goddamned nose, but I secretly really like it. For the past two days, I have convinced myself that I am the greatest teacher who has ever lived. I have wanted to go running more than I have ever, ever wanted to before--but I can't because it's too cold and because laziness wins over mania, I've probably said some weird stuff to my students (I think I dropped my famous: I'm so crabby I want to punch a baby in the face line on them), I've literally said out loud I AM SO HAPPY RIGHT NOW HOLY SHIT. And in therapy, I've apparently talked so fast and sounded so crazy, that my darling little therapist sought out my very busy psychiatrist to say: this girl is jacked up. You need to adjust her medication right now.

It makes me feel sort of important, eh? Crazy what this shit can do to your brain, anyway.

I think I do wonderful things when I'm crazy.