I’m manic. I’m up. I’m tearing it up.

I realized it yesterday while I was in a meeting with one of the paper’s top editors. Ideas came flying out of my mouth. Damn good ideas, I might add. It didn’t help that I was sitting next to a brilliant intern who was so excited to even be in the meeting that he was talking a mile-a-minute. I sucked in all of his hyperactivity and was off.

Then I read an entire GAO report and studied the complex schema of a spreadsheet. Then I wrote a column. Then I ate lunch at my desk. Then I got really riled up about the closing of a public swimming pool (why can’t they close the public golf course instead?) and asked the editor of the editorial page if I could write a column. Thankfully, he said no (although his reason didn’t make any sense). Thankfully, I didn’t argue with him…much.

I just started my day and I can already feel the mania. I am going to the gym to see if I can get rid of some of it. But you know, deep down, I really don’t want to get rid of it. It’s sick, but I really like it. I just don’t like what happens when the mania ends.

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    Last reviewed: 21 Jul 2009