Magnetic LEGO Bow Tie o’ the Day heralds my most recent return from the city of Bipolarville, in the great state of Extreme Depression. Told ya I’d be back. This is a recent photo of me in my Face Mask o’ the Day, hanging out in the flag section of the Parrish Lane Walmart—prepping for the upcoming Fourth of July celebration.
I woke up yesterday morning wishing someone would write me an utterly frivolous TIE O’ THE DAY post to make me laugh, then I realized it’s my job to write said posts. So there I was… staring at Skitter’s hairy hip mole, eating a soda cracker, and casually letting some possible tblog ideas percolate in my crazy brain. I was getting nowhere fast—when suddenly my phone honked at me and announced the caller was Mercedes.
I call her Mercedes, but most of y’all know her as my oldest sibling, Betty or BT. She has been a faithful reader of my neckwear posts since TIE O’ THE DAY was nothing more than a bigly group text. Mercedes called to check in on how her bipolarly-benched little sister is doing, AND—most importantly 😜—to check on when the heck TIE O’ THE DAY posts would be returning to social media.
I can affirm that at the very beginning of our conversation, I could hardly form sentences without great physical, cognitive, and emotional effort. The inability to think and speak easily is one of the main symptoms of my extreme bipolar depression. But by the end of the phone call, we were both heartily cackle-laughing about a smorgasbord of current events, human foibles, and what I will refer to as “Mom stories”—as in, stories starring Mom. Pick an event, pick a topic. If Mom was part of it—or even has an opinion about it—there’s sure to be a full-blown, repeatable, mostly family-friendly story to tell for generations to come. Mom and her escapades are the gift that keeps on giving. I felt demonstrably better during and after my phone call from my bigliest sister.
Don’t misunderstand me. I’m not saying Mercedes cured my depressive swing. Nor am I saying that stories about Mom conquered my bipolar speed bump. Oh, that it were so! If BT and Mom were the cure for bipolarity, I’d take our Two-Helen’s-and-a-Mercedes act on tour from town to town, and the three of us would make a bigly bucket o’ bucks rescuing folks from their own brain chemistry. Although it was not a fix-it, yesterday morning’s phone conversation with my biggest sister clearly lit an oomph-spark under my TIE O’ THE DAY muscle. If you’re sad to see I’m back, feel free to blame my Mercedes. Or Mom. Mom has given me permission to blame her for everything. I’m sure she’ll happily let you blame her for everything too.
BTW I’m so madly in love with the “Raised in a BARN” cap I got in Arkansas last summer. Out of all my hats, I find it is my go-to hat during these bipolar-y, pandemic-y, protest-y days. I just keep putting it atop my noggin, day after day. Its attitude fits me perfectly right now. Perhaps it’s a rapid-cycling bipolar thing. Perhaps it’s a redneck thing. I don’t know why, but it’s currently my thing.