This is for Rowan. Not my writing; in fact, found in an exercise book (Pilates, specifically) now gathering dust on my shelf, but this paragraph(s) I remembered...

"It is an average Sunday, a day off. I wake early. My eyes jolt open, my mind already jostling with ideas, plans, needs, desires. Relax, I tell myself. It's Sunday. But wild horses cannot keep me still. In fact it is with the manic surge of wild horses that I bound from bed, tug on my clothes, and bang an elbow on the edge of the dresser, barely registering the pain. One thought I have is about the backyard. It is the dead of winter, the ground is frozen under six inches of snow, but I want to be, have to be, outside. I pull on my boots, yank on my coat. It is 8 AM--my day off--and already I'm in a race against time.

In the backyard I stomp around taking measurements, too swift to be accurate. I come back inside, make coffee, and have a new elated thought. I need a drafting ruler and tear open the junk drawer to look for one. The drawer is a mess. Impulsively I take everything out, determined to set it in order. The hammer and the paint-can opener belong in the basement. As I take them downstairs I remember that the kitchen wall needs painting. Today I could do it--I have the energy to do it. Why not walk to the paint store, stuff the quart can in my knapsack, and return home with the paint on my back?

Meanwhile what did I come downstairs to do? I bound back upstairs thinking, that's it: I want hedges, not fences; and I pull on my boots to go outside to measure. Once in the backyard I suddenly remember that I need to put in two more paving stones to complete the path I started last fall. I hurl myself to the shed, half flying: truly, I am barely able to keep my feet on the ground. Flinging open the shed door, I rip out the shovel and stop dead in my tracks. I am furious: the ground is frozen!

Does this manic dance sound like the beginnings of a breakdown? Do I truly believe I can fly? My doctor suggests Ritalin to bring my body and my mind to rest. But I have always refused. As a friend once said to me, why take drugs when you can spin through life six steps ahead of everyone else? Thankfully I have learned to use exercise--and breath--to tranquilize my manic dance. "

That is sooo not me. I wish I had half this woman's energy. Manic lethargy might better describe how I seem to go through life. I know, careful what you wish for. If nothing else, the writing may help me to empathize with those that experience the manic dance. I may have one of those living in my house right now, but I think it's still too soon to tell.