I just had 2 days off, which felt great.  I got to spend time, relaxing time with my mother and Mark.  We laughed, we got organized, we worked in the cemetery, we hung out at camp.  It was really nice.  Just before they left we posed on the porch at camp and took our own picture, the three of us.  Who knows how it will turn out: our heads might be cut off, it was really hard to look through the viewfinder of the camera, propped up on a stool on the dinner table.  Funny, though.  Cousin Elsa finally made her son outrageously happy by getting gas to put in the motor boat, so he zoomed around the lake a few times, taking me for a nice ride, along with my 2 dogs (who did NOT think riding in a motor boat was a really cool thing to do).  He reminded me so much of myself, finding great solace and peace in flying around the lake in an old tin boat with a semi-fast motor, alone in the world, leaving a wake behind me.  I loved doing that, loved the perspective you get of the shore from the water.  I know that's one of the great things about fly-fishing, that you're in the water, participating in a totally different way.

I slept in Dockside, the small cabin that sits on the shore just at the water's edge.  The dogs adjust well to that and Chances trots right on down there at night when it's time for bed.  I love that cabin with its nest-like property.  It's small, built of wood that's aged beautifully, and has doors that open up to the world of the lake.  In the early morning the dogs bark agressively at the mergansers who are close to shore, making the ducks quack quack quack indignantly (yes, Jenica, they're still pooping on the dock, but only on the very end now).  I don't think they have a clue what they're barking at, but they sure do have a good time.

I woke at 2:00 last night and stared into the darkness, total darkness of the lake and mountains just beyond my bed.  I contemplated being bipolar, and the distinction between my personality and my mental illness.  This is something I often think of.  Where does one begin and the other end?  Is there any difference between the two?  It's complicated because I want people to always remember that I'm bipolar when they observe my behavior--it's queer behavior, and I can only do so much to control it.  I'm pumped full of chemicals and my brain has been altered a lot, but my neurons will always fire in a different pattern.  Then again, I want to be treated the same as everyone else because I don't want to be "different," I've struggled all my life with being a strange person that no one ever understood.  Well, no one does understand me and no one ever will (the only one who comes close is my psychiatrist, and that will probably always be true).  Maybe that's a good thing in life, to hold the key to yourself.  I don't know, it's one of life's great mysteries, isn't it.  Being intelligent is a lot of work.  Being bipolar is twelve times more work--you always struggle to keep your behavior under control, to monitor what you say, how you say it, what you do, what you think, how you feel.  You will never know what it feels like to be normal, to have normal emotions or feelings, to behave normally or even the way other peoplel do.  That's one of the most difficult things I face every day: what do other people feel?  How is it for normal people?

On a brighter note, my family (what's left of it) is preparing to gather soon.  This is a good thing, a wonderful thing I'm looking forward to.  I decided not to go to Rhode Island on Monday, as I had thought I might.  I have too much to do here, and too many people to see here, so I will stay at home for part of my vacation and take advantage of what the Adirondacks has to offer me.  There is a party for Ken on Sunday evening, celebrating his 90th birthday.  It will be really nice, even if his son from Penn. is planning to come (we don't like Carl, he's never around and doesn't really understand Ken or his lifestyle).  Saturday afternoon will be spent with the Hawkeye Conservationists, first a presentation by the director of the Adirondack Council, then a meeting then a social hour.  I have to make something with blueberries to take to the group.  Martha Stewart has a nice recipe for blueberry shortbread in this month's issue of her magazine and I think I'll try it.  Must take advantage of her while we still can.

And now I should move along to the data base training module that I'm supposed to be working on.  I've put it off for months and am supposed to have it finished before I leave for vacation.  Since tomorrow's my last day it's time to be productive.  My thoughts are with the people in the Midwest, hoping the visit to the doctor tomorrow will bring some resolution to this and maybe even some new information and/or treatment.  It must be so hard not knowing what sort of day you're going to have each morning when you get up.  I hope things improve for Kristen--you're in my thoughts all the time.