New toilets and cleaning the house for the plumbers

Dude.

holy shit.

I feel good.

Not like wooooo whooo good. But, like having just taken a good shit on the fourth day into a two week beach vacation good.

I had plumbers come yesterday to install new toilets. There are two in the house. Only one of them worked because I broke a piece of the intake on the other one years ago. The working one started acting up two days ago. The float mechanism started to give out and would barely refill the tank.

I'd bought new toilets back in... holy shit, back in Feb. 2017. That's how long I've had replacing the toilets on my to-do....

Jesus.

That's how things used to go for me. I'd have ideas all the time, but finishing them was diamond in the rough rare. I'm still looking for language to describe that. The image in my head right now is a bunch of bottle rockets hook together where one lights the next, but they all fire in random directions. So, you blast to one idea and there's a few moments there before the next one lights and fires you off to somewhere else.

It's possible to stay in once place a little longer through force of will. It makes you super sensitive to interruptions though. And, it makes you really focused on getting things right and things being right because you only have that short time there. Things that aren't right or efficient or that interrupt cause an anger that I hadn't realized was there. I thought it was just frustration. It wasn't. It was anger.

This is all stuff I'm realizing now that I'm on meds. I couldn't have told you that's how things went for me before my bipolar disorder was diagnosed and treated.

But, anyway, knowing the plumbers were coming, I cleaned up the house a little. It was a wreck. Boxes on the floors and every flat surface covered with random stuff and empty coke cans. It's been like that for years. Before my manic episode and subsequent depression in 2017 I kept the house decently clean, but during the depression, I just didn't care. Couldn't care, really. As I've come out of the depression, stabilized on the meds, and my brain has healed up from the damage caused by the episodes, I've been able to do it. And, more to it, I'm no longer strapped to the rockets. I can focus. Not with the intensity of mania, but with a what I can only assume is how people without bipolar disorder can.

It's fucking amazing. But, in a neurotypical way. Not in a manic I'm Going To Become President way.